About Face
by clairon
Summary: Lots of fics written on how Face joined the Team, this is my variation on the theme. COMPLETED
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Lots of fics written on how Face joined the Team, this is my variation on the theme.

Warnings/Content: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

Disclaimer: I do not own the A-Team characters and am making no profit from this story, which is a work of fan fiction only.

Thanks: To Athelas my writing partner, who although this isn't her chosen subject took the time to turn my 'bloody bollocks' to 'goddamn bullshit' – thanks Mrs Bean, I owe you yet another one! Also to Mike McGrath who had the courage not only to live through the sort of torture I thankfully only write about, but also the strength to share his experiences with the rest of the world. And lastly to Dirk for the inspiration…………………

* * *

ABOUT FACE

INTRODUCTION: _As You Were_

"Yeah, Hannibal it's all quiet here." Murdock's voice drawled lazily into the radio. "OK," he continued. "See you later!"

"How much longer?" Face whined from the seat next to the pilot.

"Hannibal says give it another five hours!"

"Five hours!" Face screwed his features in despair. "But it's going dark – no one is going to turn up now!"

Murdock sighed. "You know who's the boss – Hannibal says five hours so five hours it is!"

Face groaned.

Resolutely cheerful Murdock said, "Besides look at the sunset. Man it's so cool here! I feel like we're on a date!"

They were sitting in Face's Corvette pulled into a road side stop looking out across the Pacific Ocean as into it dipped the red golden sun sending out streaks of all colours across the sky. Below them teetering on the rocks was the beach house they were supposed to be watching. Having spent most of the day here and seeing absolutely no action both men were feeling rather bored.

Face groaned and banged his hand on the steering wheel in frustration but Murdock's comment had set him thinking. He sat silently for a while but his features were squeezed into a puzzled expression. Finally he asked, "Do you regret it, Murdock?"

Murdock had been gazing out at the horizon but he turned to regard his companion. "Regret what?"

"In the shower, in Nam?"

"Wow! You right back there?" Murdock noted the flush on Face's cheeks, a number of off the cuff responses flashed through his head but he bit them back. Face deserved better he knew, so he answered truthfully. "Biggest regret of my life!"

Face's head jerked around and his eyes were wide as they met Murdock's. "Really?" he said, his voice oddly uncontrolled.

Murdock held the questioning stare. "Yes, really," he responded truthfully.

Face nodded slowly, opened his mouth to respond, closed it again and then looked back to the sunset. Suddenly the beauty that was around him fell away as did the years and he was lost in the memory……

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings/Content**: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

* * *

PART ONE: **_Attention_**

****

Damn! The thought thundered around his head once more as it had rolled for the whole of the night. How could he have been so stupid? He was tight, too strung out, his adrenaline pumping too fast for too long; it would do him no good. He had to get control.

He let out a long breath, forcing himself to relax, pushing his head into the hard, smelly mattress on which he lay. He glanced around the dimly lit cell, and out through the bars into the hallway beyond. It was all empty. He sighed with relief, running his hand through his hair. He could not give in to the fear; no one could know how close to the edge he was. He had to get a grip; he could not allow this lapse to be followed by another, one which could bring him even more damage.

He lay completely still on the bed, feeling the blood run through his veins, slowing it so his heartbeat returned to normal. It took him some time but he had learned long ago that if he concentrated very hard, gave his whole attention to it, then he could control his own bodily responses completely.

He signed as the calmness flowed over him. He felt better, felt as if he was no longer careering forward into oblivion. He allowed himself a brief smile at his success. He had to think, had to find a way to turn this disaster into something positive, something from which he could benefit and not allow the fearful chaos to take him – he had been there before and only just survived. Now he feared if he lost his control he would never find himself again.

He sat up, ran his hand through his blonde hair, neatening it as best he could. It was too long he knew but he'd hated the buzz cut he endured in training and since he arrived in Nam no one seemed to care.

Stiffly he walked towards the bars, touched the nearest one, wishing it was cold but the metal, like the rest of this goddamn country, seemed to sweat in the humid heat. God it was hot. He came from California and there it was hot but bright and shining not this intense soul sapping dingy wetness that seemed to suck the life out of everything.

Get a grip, he counselled himself. Since when had the weather bothered him? He was above such things and he had to think, think his way through this.

His mind went back to the previous night and his frustration clenched in his stomach like fists. He had been so very close to pulling it off and that was what hurt the most. He had almost done it; played Finlay, the big idiot sergeant, expertly, fleeced him good, set up the fight to cover himself as he planted the dope and then made his getaway, leaving the sergeant to take the fall, minus his pay of course!

He snorted but the taste of success had proved too elusive and now all he had was the bitterness of failure on his tongue. Standing perfectly still he replayed the episode analysing it minutely. It was so clear now. He had miscalculated badly when he decided to alter his plan on the spur of the moment and involve the Special Forces guys in the fight. Damn, but he had introduced an element he couldn't control – hadn't he learnt anything from the past? He thought they would have made the fight in the bar last longer but instead the marines had fought like a team, their Colonel assessing the situation and getting it under control in seconds. Got to admit he had been impressed. Yeah, dead impressed when the mountain of a black sergeant had ground his head into the sawdust with that huge boot and held him there until the MPs turned up; held him there with the hash still on him, just waiting for the heat to find it, ticking in his pocket; his own personal time bomb.

As he thought on it, his hand went to the side of his face. He grimaced as he touched the bruise there – damn, didn't want the imprint of that big sucker's size 12s to remind him of his failure. Didn't want it ruining his good looks either – never underestimate the power of a pretty face. He had shamelessly used his often enough to know the wisdom in that statement. For the millionth time he glanced around the cell for a mirror but he already knew there was none.

He took a deep breath and forced away the dark finger of panic that had stealthily returned to hover expectantly at the edge of his consciousness. He had to forget what he could not influence, had to make do with using what he could; adapt it, change it so he could benefit. He moved and sat back on his cot. Think man, think!

The sound of heavy boots on the wooden walkway outside brought him back to reality, then the squeak of the door opening. He refused to move but remained sitting nonchalantly on the bed, his whole being focused on what was about to come through the door although no one would ever guess from his demeanour.

"Attention!"

Before he knew it he had snapped into position beside the bed. Heals together and in line at a forty five degree angle, legs straight without locking the knees, body erect with hips level, chest lifted and arched, shoulders square and even, arms straight and without stiffness along his side with the back of his hands pointing outward, fingers curled, thumbs touching the first joint of his index fingers, thumbs straight along the seam of his trouser leg, head erect, chin drawn in and looking to the front.

Damn! He hated that reaction but it had been trained into him so well his body responded before his mind could gain control! The cell door was opened and he found himself eye to eye with a slightly familiar grey haired Colonel who was smirking at him coldly.

"Don't you just hate it when that happens?" the Colonel beamed. He felt himself shudder as steely, blue eyes seemed to penetrate right through him. How the hell did this Colonel know what he hated? He gulped suddenly feeling vulnerable but forcing his eyes to look straight ahead and his body remain rigid.

"Rest easy, soldier," the Colonel's voice was not unkind as he moved around him. "Leave us," he said over his shoulder to the guards who had accompanied him. They exchanged glances, their reticence obvious. The Colonel turned back to them giving them the benefit of the full force of his stare. They left immediately with no further argument.

"Lieutenant Peck," the Colonel stated.

"Sir!" He replied, snapping back to attention.

The Colonel smirked but said nothing as he moved around the room. Finally he stopped and Peck could feel those eyes turn back to him. He fought to repress the cold shiver that ran along his spine. "Nice place you got here," the Colonel moved to sit on the bed. "Mattress has seen better days though!" he murmured.

Peck remained motionless while inside all his instincts screamed that there was danger here. Who the hell was this guy? And what was he doing here?

Again as if reading his thoughts the Colonel asked. "Do you know who I am, Lieutenant?"

"No Sir!" Forced into a corner, Peck knew he had no alternative but to play the soldier and make himself wait until he had more information. He hated being wrong-footed to such an extent though.

The Colonel chuckled. "You don't remember me then?"

Peck continued to stare fixedly at the far wall. "No, Sir!"

The squeak of the springs told him the Colonel had stood up but he was aware of nothing else until he felt the warm tickle of breath at the back of his neck. This time Peck could not control the shudder and the Colonel chuckled again. "That's a shame," he said, his voice still soft. "I would have expected someone like you to remember me." He snorted and moved back to stand in front. He fiddled in his top pocket and triumphantly placed the cigar he found there in his mouth but made no attempt to light it. He chewed it instead as he regarded the soldier in front of him once more. "You got a lot to learn, kid," he said with a fondness in his voice that Peck found disconcerting.

The Colonel then fumbled in another pocket and produced a lighter. He proceeded to light his cigar and puffed away happily for a few minutes seemingly oblivious to all else. Peck fought the urge to shuffle his feet impatiently, as he told himself he could wait as long as it took. This guy was obviously off his head and got his kicks coming into the brig to taunt the poor unfortunates he found there. Well he would have to do a lot better to get a reaction from Templeton Peck!

Taking a deep breath the Colonel continued as if there had been no pause. "You're in a deal of trouble, Lieutenant. Have you thought how you're gonna con your way out of this one?"

"Con, Sir?" Peck let his eyes go innocently wide as he actually looked at the superior officer for the first time.

"That's what you do isn't it?" The Colonel smiled around his cigar. "Or should I more accurately say that's what you're good at?" His tone was suddenly challenging and Peck realised why the man was faintly familiar. This was the Special Forces Colonel from the night before, the guy who had restored order in a matter of seconds with his Team. The guy who Peck had brashly involved in the fight without really thinking through the consequences.

The realisation hit him hard, his eyes flashed to meet those of the other man and he gulped fighting for control.

The Colonel smiled that knowing smile which Peck found he was beginning to hate. "Remember me now?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir!" Pecked barked out the response to cover the uncertainty that assailed him.

"Well, are you at least going to offer me an explanation as to why you dragged me and my Team into a stupid, unimportant fight? We don't like to have our free time interrupted for anyone."

Peck made the transformation from rigid soldier to smooth conman in one easy breath. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, smiled his widest most ingratiating smile, took a step towards his prey as his mind whirled through which patter would work best in the circumstances. It was a truly impressive performance and the Colonel smiled in appreciation for an instant before shattering the spell. "Attention!" he snapped.

Peck was back in position before he even realised what the Colonel had said, his face flushing with frustration at the way he could be manipulated so easily. The Colonel let out a long guffaw and shook his head slowly. "You're good, kid," he admitted. "And given the right training you could be great."

Peck snorted. "Who the hell are you?" he snarled.

"That's 'Who the hell are you, Sir?' soldier!" the Colonel smirked. "And I am Colonel John Smith, my friends call me Hannibal but 'Sir' will do just fine from you."

"What do you want, Sir?" Peck asked biting back his anger.

Smith's grin widened in amusement. "Guards!" he called, turning back to regard the simmering soldier barely managing to stand to attention. The guards entered. "I'm done here," Smith continued. "You can lock him up again but don't throw away the key, not yet. I might be back tomorrow." The blue eyes sought out the younger man's questioningly stare. "Would you like that lieutenant?"

The cell door clanged shut and the guard rammed home the key. "Go to hell," Peck spat and hesitated before finishing, "Sir!"

The Colonel laughed. "But I'm enjoying your company too much for that, Peck! I can see we are going to be great friends!"

That night Hannibal sat in the Team's hooch and chortled as he remembered the look of barely restrained fury on Peck's face as he had left the brig.

* * *

"What's so funny, Hannibal?" B A Baracus snorted.

The Colonel took a long draw on his cigar and smiled, his eyes beaming as brightly as the smouldering cigar. "Nothing's funny, B A," he responded. "Just think I may have found our new Supplies Officer. That's the plan anyway!"

Three pairs of eyes jerked up to meeting his. "Who?" Baracus suspiciously voiced the query that was on everyone's lips.

Hannibal chuckled. "Young kid I met."

"What's he like?" Ray asked.

"Face like an angel but…."

"No!" Murdock let out a howl of terror. "Why is there always a 'but' with you Colonel?"

"When you bringing him in?" Baracus asked, scowling at the pilot.

Hannibal shrugged. "Slight logistical problem," he admitted.

"He's in the brig isn't he, Colonel?" Murdock howled again. "Why can't we have somebody who's normal for once?"

The Colonel just smiled wider. "Just normal won't do for this team and you know it Murdock. Gotta be the best!"

"Gotta have too much baggage!" B A snorted.

"Worked for you guys, didn't it?" Hannibal rolled his eyes.

"Oh lord," Murdock breathed. "This one is gonna be trouble I can feel it. So much baggage gonna need a luggage trolley!"

* * *

"Damn right you need a good supply officer if they're the best cigars you can get!"

Colonel Smith smiled as he sat back on his chair. "Best form of defence is offence – I like that kid!" he beamed. "What's wrong with my cigars anyway?"

Peck stared at him. "They stink," he said. "Must taste worse. What are they made of pigshit? Reckon a Colonel like you should have only the best!"

Smith laughed. "My thoughts entirely but unfortunately in times of war even I have to compromise."

"If you get me out of here I'll get you Havanas!" Peck leaned forwards and reached across the table to lightly run his fingers along the back of Smith's hand. "No compromises," he promised. "I would give you my best, all of it."

Smith stared at the other man's hand seemingly momentarily flummoxed by what the lieutenant was offering. They were sitting across from each other at the rickety old table in Peck's cell. It was the day following Smith's first visit and Peck had spent a sleepless night reviewing the events of the day and planning on how to turn the Special Forces Colonel's interest to his advantage.

The lieutenant knew he was in a dangerous predicament and he was pragmatic enough to grasp salvation in whatever form it arrived. He believed now he understood what Smith wanted and if that was what it took than Peck had no scruples about offering himself to the Colonel. He had bartered away his principles along time ago and what he had lost in integrity he believed he could more than make up for in talent and experience. If Smith could get him out of this mess, Peck was more than willing to show his appreciation in anyway he could.

The smile had gone from Smith's face when his eyes finally came up to meet Peck's. His eyes were cold and his voice was deadly as he said, "You are not propositioning me, are you Lieutenant? You're already on a list of charges as long as your arm, are you really adding another infinitely more serious one to the list? You know what they do to queers in this army don't you?"

Peck's face lost its colour as he quickly withdrew his hand. He giggled nervously. "Propositioning you, Colonel? You misunderstand me. I thought we were talking about cigars!"

Smith's eyes burned into him and Peck had to fight to stop from cringing before the intensity of that stare. Inside he was panicked, how could he have read it so wrong? He prided himself on being able to read men, to know instinctively what they wanted and to be able to deliver it. If he couldn't do that what value was he to anyone? But right from the start this Colonel seemed to know what he was thinking and know how to wrong-foot him. Couldn't let him see now how rattled he was, had to keep up the cool façade. Couldn't come across as anything but ultra-confident even if deep inside he was scared shitless. Had to find out what this Smith wanted. Had to find out and quickly – couldn't afford any more mistakes, the stakes were too high this time. Breathe deep, slow the heart and use your head.

The Colonel was still watching him seemingly engrossed in his performance. Peck had the awful sensation that Smith really could hear every thought that was skidding through his head. Don't let him get to you. He knows nothing except what you show him so reveal nothing. Peck forced himself to smile wide and bravely.

Smith smiled back infuriatingly bland as he puffed on that damned weed. "I've been reading your file, kid," he began innocently enough. "Doesn't really add up, does it?"

Peck gulped. "In what way, Sir?" he asked mildly.

Smith shrugged. "Dates, service periods, even your age – all looks suspicious to me. And then there's the Special Forces training."

Peck slowly lifted the glass of water to his lips that he had requested at the outset. God, it was suddenly too hot in this damn cell! He took a long sip. He smiled. "Special Forces training, Sir?"

The Colonel's eyes had narrowed. "Your assessment scores are just too good; even better than mine!"

Peck gulped and then forced out a carefree laugh. "What can I say," he said modestly. "I am damn good!"

Smith leaned back again and sighed. "At some things maybe," he acknowledged. "But soldiering isn't one of them!"

"What are you saying?" Peck stood up in a flourish knocking over his chair, the picture of indignant innocence. "That I faked my scores? Come on Colonel, you know that's not possible."

"I know anything's possible, Lieutenant. But if you are such a good soldier how come you've been in Nam eight months now and you've only managed two missions out?"

Peck stood stock still, the colour once again draining from his face. What to say? Who was this guy and how could he see right through him into his deepest, darkest secrets? It just wasn't fair and how the hell was he supposed to fight it? He sat down roughly trying to find a strategy – did he deny it all or did he explain just enough to get himself by? Even in such extreme pressure the thought that he should disclose everything to the curious Colonel never entered his mind.

He glanced up but rather than see Smith's eyes coldly judging him, he was shocked to see sympathy there. "You want to tell me now what the fight in the bar was about the other night, kid?"

Not allowing the sudden change of subject to throw him off balance Peck let his eyes drop to the floor as his shoulders slumped a little and he sniffed loudly. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled.

Hannibal reached out a strong hand and reassuringly squeezed Peck's shoulder. "I watched you set it up," Smith continued. "You're a smooth operator, kid. But it didn't quite turn out how it was planned, did it?"

Peck lifted his head, eyes bright but moist, he sniffed again. "Changed the plan, involved you guys at the last minute." He smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Big mistake."

"Plan's got to be flexible," Smith ventured.

"Got to be aware of all the possibilities too," Peck sighed. "Your guys were just too good, I didn't get chance to plant the stuff. Then that big ape of yours blocked my escape with his boot on my face." He shook his head again. "Sloppy, very sloppy!"

"Why did you want to plant the stuff on that Sergeant anyway?" Hannibal asked.

"What are you, my priest?" Peck retorted but his tone was tired rather than defiant. He began to rub his hand nervously on his thigh before continuing in a voice suddenly small and meek. "I wanted to get my own back on Finlay."

"Why?"

Peck snorted, running his hand through his hair he moved away to the cell bars. The Colonel remained silent, content just to watch and wait. The lieutenant let out a strangled sob and leaned back on to the stout metal bars. His eyes were bright but his voice dull as he finally said. "Because he used me."

"Used you?" Smith repeated. "In what way?"

"In what way do you think?" Suddenly all meekness was gone. Peck stepped forward in a rush of unrestrained anger, his voice metallic and bitter. He stopped leaning on the table in front of Smith, breathing heavily and eyes flashing wildly, nostrils flaring, thrusting his face towards the Colonel, demandingly.

Smith still motionless regarded him. "Are you telling me this Sergeant Finlay raped you?"

It was stunningly quiet in the cell. Peck seemed to hover uncertainly and then his head dropped to the table, the anger gone as quickly as it had flared. He shuddered violently. "Yes," he replied firmly, raising his tear filled eyes to stare at the Colonel.

Smith let out a long breath. "Why didn't you report it?" he said emotionlessly.

"You think they'd believe me?" Peck's pathetic demeanour turned suddenly incredulous. "I've got form, you said it yourself."

"So you fleece him of his money and then plant enough dope on him to get him sent away for a deal of time? Like I said, you are some operator, kid."

Peck shrugged. "I learned how to look after myself," he said with a hint of pride in his voice. "I had to."

* * *

"Colonel." Murdock sauntered up to where Hannibal was sitting smoking outside the hooch.

The older man squinted up at the pilot. "Mission OK?" he asked.

Murdock shrugged. "It's done," he drawled, digging in his pocket for a cigarette. "That's all there is to say." He sat down beside the Colonel and sighed. They sat quietly for a while both enjoying their smokes.

"Still no Supplies Officer?" Murdock asked finally.

"'Fraid not, Captain," Hannibal answered.

"Too bad, I dropped by to get a look at him. You find that grunt sergeant you were looking for when I left?" Murdock blew a perfect smoke ring.

"Finlay? Yeah I found him."

Murdock nodded expectantly but the Colonel stood up, brushed himself down, simply smiled enigmatically and moved away.

* * *

"Attention!"

Peck found himself standing, straining before Colonel Smith once more. The guards were dismissed, Peck expected to be allowed to rest easy but instead the Colonel leaned against the bars and lit his cigar, glaring at the lieutenant. It went on for long minutes until Peck began to feel most uncomfortable. Deciding to do something he cleared his throat. "Sir, permission…."

"Shut up!" the Colonel snapped. He pulled himself up to his full height and moved menacingly forward. "You must think you're real clever, Peck!"

"Sir?"

"Don't play innocent with me. You are one devious little shit, aren't you?" Smith was only inches away; his body radiating barely controlled fury. "Have you ever done anything in your whole life that you did not benefit from?"

Peck sighed softly. He knew what the Colonel was driving at instantly. He had dreaded it would come to this but he believed he was fighting for his life, his future at least, here. "You talked to Finlay," he whispered.

"Yes I did and I don't have to repeat what he told me, do I?"

Peck gulped. "No, Sir," he replied.

Smith snorted in disgust. "Nice guy Sergeant Douglas Finlay, told me all about his wife and kids – five of 'em all under ten, misses them so much. Needs to send his pay check home just to keep food on the table. Comes from the Bible belt you know. He explained to me how he built a church in his back yard. I have to say he's not a very good judge of character though but then if he was he wouldn't have fallen under your spell, would he, Peck?"

"I don't know what you mean, Sir!"

"You were setting him up. You knew that the MPs were closing in on your little dope smuggling scam so you were going to plant the stuff on poor old Finlay and let him take the fall for you, weren't you?"

Peck licked his lips nervously but decided to remain silent as the Colonel continued. "And you know what really made my blood boil, kid? Douglas still talks about you as if you're his best friend. He's actually mortified that you're in prison, doesn't understand about the fight but is sure you did it all to protect him. How gut wrenching is that?"

"It's not what it seems, Colonel," Peck began. "At least let me explain why I did it. I had to, you see……" As he spoke he turned towards the older man, his eyes pleading.

"Attention!" Smith's voice was icily controlled and the lieutenant snapped back into position. "I don't want to hear it. What you did to him was bad enough but then to try to tell me that Finlay was using you!" He shook his head. "Are there no depths to which you won't sink?"

"I …."

"Shut up! I've had enough of your performances. Quite frankly I think I'll let you rot in here. I'm not going out on a limb for anyone who lies so blatantly to me."

Smith stormed out of the cell. Peck stood to attention for a few more seconds and then he allowed his muscles to relax. He sniffed, running his hand through his hair indifferently and chewing his lip. Slowly he returned to his bed and sat down thoughtfully.

He had been rejected all his life, he had learned to accept it and yet that made the searing pain of it no easier to bear.

* * *

"Murdock!"

"Yes, Colonel?" The pilot looked up from the comic book he had been avidly devouring.

"A word, please."

Murdock carefully folded down the corner of his page and placed the comic delicately on the chair he had been sitting on, before following his Colonel out of the hooch.

"I need to ask your help, Captain," Hannibal began.

"Anything, Sir!"

"Our new Supplies Officer will be arriving soon."

"He will? Oh gee!" Murdock let out a howl of delight.

Hannibal smiled. "He's a little raw around the edges."

"Is he a newbie?"

Hannibal shook his head. "No, he's been here a while but I want you to watch over him."

"Me, Colonel? Why I'd be honoured but why not Ray or BA? After all I'm not really even part of your Team."

The Colonel threw a friendly arm around the pilot's shoulder. "You are part of my Team, Captain and you always will be. You have the qualities that I need, that our Supplies Officer needs although he doesn't know it yet and you will be good for him, I know. BA and Ray can be a little bristly and we're gonna need a hell of a lot of smooth with this one."

"Uh-huh," Murdock nodded. "All that baggage? I'll be your 'smooth dude' on this one, Colonel. You can rely on me."

"I know, Murdock, I know!"

* * *

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings/Content**: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

* * *

PART TWO: _Fall In_

Peck fastidiously smoothed down the crease in his trousers one more time. He still longed for a mirror but the guards had just laughed at his request. Still he could tell by touch that the bruise on his face had faded. He knew he must look good – he always did in his dress uniform and it made him feel so much more comfortable than those stinking fatigues he had been wearing since his arrest.

He let out a long sigh as he glanced around his cell one last time wondering if he would be coming back to it again. His brief seemed to think he would be on his way home by this time tomorrow. He had been shocked at that and last night as he sat on his bed contemplating it, he had realised that he would be sad to leave, after all it wasn't as if he had anything to go home to.

He had spent the whole night thinking over what had happened to him during the past few months and had slowly come to see that his time here had been the best in his life. Sure he hated the weather, the red dust and the noise but there had been so much opportunity for him here. He felt suddenly cheated that he was going to miss out on exploiting the rest; so many scams, so many eager, naïve people to fleece, all in one place. No matter where he ended up he was never going to get this again. And with the recognition came the accompanying thought that he had blown it big time. How the hell could he think himself talented if he couldn't even keep himself clean enough to exploit this treasure?

Court marshalled, dishonourable discharge maybe even time in a military prison in the States that was where he was headed and all because of his lack of control when it really mattered. He thought he had overcome it, found strategies to avoid it, set in motion careful plans to keep it hidden but in the end it had come back to haunt him.

Smith had seen it in him. With a bitter sigh, Peck thought back to the Colonel's words, _'How come you've only managed two missions out?'_

How indeed? By lying, cheating, and faking orders, of course. He had even dislocated his own shoulder one day to avoid a mission. He had been in the brig for minor indiscretions more times than he had lifted his gun in anger – hell, he wasn't even sure he remembered how to fire it! All the time telling himself that he was doing the right thing, that he was too intelligent to die in this godforsaken wasteland in a war that he didn't care about, for a country that could go to hell! Who was he trying to kid?

The first time out in the jungle had been a painful revelation of his inadequacy. While Smith was correct in saying that he had faked his training scores, truth was that Peck hadn't been bad in training, he just lacked the motivation to try hard at it. It was a constant theme through his life – just do the bare necessities and if you can cheat so you don't even have to do that, then all the better. But out there, beyond that wire, was so terrifying for Peck that it petrified him, his whole being shut down literally. Control was something he had to have and out there with the Gooks laughing at him, skirting through the jungle, watching him, killing him; he had no control.

He had survived that first time simply by throwing himself into a foxhole and lying there, frozen completely by sheer terror. All thought, all power lost until one of the others had picked him up on the way out and literally thrown him into the Huey. He had sat in the chopper, shivering frenziedly, face flushed, eyes wild and all his squad pointedly ignoring the stink of piss that emanated from him.

God, the memory of it even now sent him rigid with embarrassment.

The second time out had been worse because he had felt it coming; known that the fear was so deep he had no hope of tamping it down enough to be able to function. All the strategies and plans he had conceived the night before to overcome it were useless, trying to breathe steadily, trying to still his trembling heart; but even as he did so finding himself falling to the ground and whimpering softly. Again he had escaped only because some green soldier, unaware of the piece of crap he was risking his life for, had the selfless foresight to help him to the chopper.

It was after that that Peck promised himself he would never go the other side of the wire again. He knew his commanding officer suspected, but by using all of his scamming skill he had managed to keep well enough out of his way to avoid the confrontation that was coming. Still even as he admitted his weakness he had acknowledged that his inability to control himself where it really mattered could only have one final conclusion; eventually he would be caught, his luck would run out. Someone would find the time and the inclination to draw him to account and when that happened he would have no defence. Although the obvious reason for his current predicament was the fight in the bar and the drugs subsequently found on his person, Peck knew his military record was not going to save him now, in fact if anybody dug into it, as Colonel Smith clearly had, they would see that in itself was a ground for further punishment. His forthcoming court marshal was as predictable as clap in a whorehouse. And he was going to miss out on all the lucrative action at the base because of it.

Peck groaned as the door to the cell block opened. Nervously he fidgeted with his tie. Maybe it was for the best he had no mirror, right now he knew he couldn't stomach the sight of the cowardly face that would stare back at him.

The guards entered. "What no wisecracks today?" one asked as he cuffed Peck's hands together. "Would have thought you'd have been full of them."

"That's enough, boys!" Colonel Smith's arrogant voice preceded him into the room. His cigar poked nonchalantly from his mouth as he waved a piece of paper in front of him. "Change of plan," he said eyebrows raised. "Take the kid's cuffs off."

"What?" The guards asked bemused. One took hold of the paper and screwed his eyes to focus on the orders it contained. "Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered.

Smith's smile got wider as he moved through the cell door. "You ready?"

Peck stared at him, mouth wide in shocked surprise. It took long seconds before he managed to recover enough to say "For what?" and even then his voice was high pitched from astonishment.

"Been with General Hollard all morning," Smith beamed. "Took some time but I finally persuaded him that this army had invested too much in you kid, to send you home to a prison. No sir, makes much more sense to keep you here, where I can make you into a real soldier, where you can get that selfish ass of yours doing a bit of good!"

"But the charges?" Peck stuttered.

"Oh, I think we know you were guilty on all counts, Lieutenant. Didn't need to bother wasting the big brass' time on even listening to them."

Peck stared at him incredulously trying to grasp what was being said. "You mean I'm free?" he whispered as the cuffs were removed.

Smith's smile froze. "Oh no, kid," his voice was cold and firm. "You lost your liberty the day you signed on the dotted line and gave your soul to Uncle Sam." His face brightened and he threw a fatherly arm around Peck's shoulders. "But you're staying put, for now."

Peck gulped. He may not have expected this last minute reprieve but he sure as hell could use it to his advantage! "I don't know how to thank you," he grinned disarmingly. "Whatever you want I'll get you. I ……"

Smith raised a hand to silence him. "You seem to be labouring under a misapprehension here, kid. Two things I have to get you to understand." Disentangling himself he turned to face Peck all trace of friendliness gone as he stabbed his finger painfully into the younger man's chest. "First this is not a good thing for you. I'll give you two days, three at the most, before you are begging me to send you home or back to your court marshal at the very least. And second, there is no point in you opening your mouth if all you are going to spout is utter bullshit!"

It was the Colonel's turn to be surprised for although Peck stepped back from the accusing finger, his eyes met Smith's in challenge, he gave his most stunning smile and said, "Guess I'm gonna have to keep quiet for a while then, Sir!"

Recovering Smith matched the smile. "Where I'm taking you Peck, you won't have the energy to even think any wise-ass comments let alone say them! Now General Hollard informs me the camp needs some new latrines dug. Get back into your fatigues and get moving, soldier!"

Peck's smile faded. "Latrines!" he breathed with a gulp. "But I'm an Officer, I don't ….."

Smith shook his head slowly. "Wrong. Hollard has given you to me, Peck, for as long as I want. You're nothing except what I tell you to be. You do whatever I tell you and you do it now!"

Peck hesitated but then with a sigh of acceptance, muttering about slavery being abolished centuries before, he turned towards his neatly folded fatigues on the bed behind him. Smith silently waited until Peck stood before him dressed in his old uniform at attention once more.

The Colonel ran an appraising eye around the lieutenant. "Think it's about time we got you into shape, Lieutenant," he said. "Strikes me sitting on you ass in here not to mention mooning about this base for months has stolen that Special Forces finesse from your physique. Don't worry I'll get you back up to those scores you got in training!"

Peck raised his eyes to see the Colonel's twinkling maliciously at him. "Would it help at this point to inform you I have a weakness in my shoulder, Sir?" he asked. "The MD has signed me off all physical activities!"

"Only to give me more ammo to aim at you, kid!" Smith chuckled. He bent in closer. "And between you and me I think I've already got more than enough."

Peck let out a resigned groan. "Thought so," he muttered.

"Now let's go Lieutenant – latrines wait for no man! About Face! Double time, quick march!" Smith's smile was so broad it covered the whole of his face. He lit his cigar, took a long pull and then laughed. "I love it when a plan comes together!"

* * *

"Goddamn it, Murdock, you are going to have to talk to him!" Ray started.

"Me? Why?"

BA snorted impatiently. "Because it's getting out of hand. Can't hardly get to ma bed cos of all the stuff he's scammed!"

Ray nodded in agreement. "I only mentioned yesterday I'd lost a sock by the time I got back from the shower there were twenty new pairs waiting for me!"

Murdock sighed and scratched his head. There were standing under a tarpaulin cover as the monsoon rain beat an annoying tattoo outside. Rivulets of water splashed on to the already saturated ground in front of them, the red dust had long since turned to a sucking, cloying mud. The pilot searched for his cigarettes in his breast pocket and cursed when he saw how wet they were. "Goddamn it – isn't anything dry in this country?"

"Cheer up, Murdock – rainy season's nearly over!" Ray smirked as he took out his own packet, neatly wrapped in waterproof plastic. Murdock smiled his gratitude; he placed the cigarette in his mouth and then leaned in closer, shielding it as Brennan lit it for him. He took a long draw and then turned his attention back to the muddy, wet square in front of them.

It was empty – no fool would venture out in this kind of weather. Everyone was hunkered down in their hooches, playing cards, cleaning weapons, getting bored; just wishing for the rain to stop. Murdock shivered, maybe not, because when the rain stopped the missions would start and the fear would return, clutching deep in your gut. Rain was bad but no rain was bad too. Murdock sighed; everything was bad in this place!

"He's better than he was though, eh?" The pilot ventured finally, remembering how during the first few weeks he had been with them Peck had hardly said a word. He had just withdrawn into himself and save for the time Hannibal had forced him out, remained silent on his bunk. At least now relations had thawed enough for the kid to actually be aware of the needs of his Team and to go out and try to satisfy them.

"Different ain't always better!" BA growled.

"I'm working on it, BA," Murdock revealed. "You gotta admit he's a class act on the scam though."

As he spoke two figures came into view through the murky rain. One was holding a colourful umbrella to keep himself dry. The other was dressed in full battle gear, pack on his back and rifle in hand. As they got closer it became clear, though the protection of the incongruent brolly had not stopped the first figure from getting wet, the second was miserably saturated and covered from head to toe in the cloying mud.

As the three men watched the second figure suddenly lost balance and slipped ending up sprawled face down in the mud. The first figure leaned over him and although the words were lost in the thrum of the rain it was obvious from the tautness of his stance that he was screaming at the unfortunate beneath him.

Slowly the mud figure climbed to his knees. Then using his rifle as a crutch managed to pull himself back on to his feet, where he stood swaying slightly as his companion balled him out.

"Colonel is pushing him hard," observed Ray.

"Needs to," replied BA. "Still reckon he ain't up to this. Man's got a pretty face and a smartass mouth – when did that ever make you a soldier?"

"He's up to it, BA," Murdock said, his eyes never leaving the two figures as they moved towards them again. "He's stronger than he looks."

Baracus snorted. "Ain't saying nothing!"

"Afternoon, gentlemen!" Hannibal smiled, sucking on a particularly sorry looking cigar as he stopped before the members of his Team. "Enjoying the entertainment? Attention!" The last was thrown over his shoulder to an exhausted and filthy Peck who had looked about to collapse into a muddy heap. The order had the desired effect and he clicked into position.

"It's mighty wet, Colonel," Murdock ventured. "Maybe you should call it a day."

Hannibal's eyes gleamed under his sodden hair. "Nonsense, Captain! Little bit of rain cleanses the soul! Got a light?" He proffered the cigar.

"Think it's passed that, Sir," Murdock said politely. "Only good enough for a decent burial now!"

Hannibal guffawed. "You could be right." He looked sadly down at his never-to-be smoke. "Damn I hate wasting such good Havanas!" He was reminded then of the pathetic figure standing, shivering behind him. "Still now I got such a good supply it's not so bad." He shook his head slightly still amazed by the fact that only two hours after he had released Peck from the brig, and when Smith knew the lieutenant had been digging latrines, a beautiful wooden box of high quality Cuban cigars had somehow found its way on to his desk. Kid was a genius, he had to admit!

But genius or no, that was not going to get him out of his training. "Pack off, Lieutenant!" He ordered. "Down on the floor. Fifty push-ups. Count 'em for me!"

Peck let out a weary sigh. "But Colonel I ….."

"Make that one hundred!" Smith cut across him sternly.

Peck hesitated, his handsome face creased into a horrified expression as the rain dripped off the edge of his helmet running down his face like tears. His eyes flew wildly towards the men standing in front of him, seeking support but the three Team members knew better than to question their Colonel and they all refused to make eye contact. Peck sniffed.

"I don't hear no counting, Lieutenant!" Smith pressed.

Peck let out a weak groan but after placing his rifle on the floor beside him began to unbuckle the massive pack on his back with fumbling fingers. He dropped it to the floor, misjudging its weight in his weariness and almost fell over with it. Murdock had to school himself not to step forward and help the guy who was obviously so close to the end of his endurance.

Peck wearily assumed the position and though his muscles screamed at him began his push-ups. "One, two, three …." His voice grated but Murdock noted his eyes flashed their anger.

Smith let him get to twenty before he growled. "Start again!"

Peck stopped, the fire burning fiercely in his eyes as he looked up at the Colonel. "What?"

Ray and BA exchanged knowing looks as they shook their heads. Murdock drew in a tentative breath, his heart suddenly beating with fear for his budding friend.

"That's 'What Sir,' Peck!" Smith held the Lieutenant's challenging stare as he bent down in front of him. "And it's 'One, Sir, two, Sir'. Do you understand that now?"

"Yes…. Sir!" Peck did not even try to hide the hostility in his voice.

Smith shook his head. "Peck, I've told you not to fight me. I will win and the only person who suffers is you. You're an intelligent boy, surely you can see that?"

Peck held the Colonel's gaze and gulped. Slowly he bent his arms, muscles straining as he eased his body downwards and then pulled it back up. "One, Sir," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Two, Sir."

Hannibal held the aggressive stare and spoke as Peck continued to count. "It's professional pride, see kid. You conned your way to a green beret, now it's my duty to ensure that you are fit to wear it. I have to do that for all the good men who earned the honour the correct way. It's my job."

"Fifteen, Sir, sixteen, sir ……"

The Colonel stood up slowly. He stood in silence but his eyes never left Peck as the younger man struggled to finish.

"One hundred, sir!" He finally groaned as his arms gave way and he fell to the ground breaking eye contact and oblivious now to the wet mud rushing up to claim him.

"Good job, Peck," Smith breathed. "Now get your pack back on. It's time for another run!"

The mucky, almost unidentifiable figure stretched out in the mud groaned desperately. "Take me back to the brig," he gasped. "Court marshal me – anything is better than this!"

Smith's smile was satisfaction. It had taken longer than he had predicted to the kid in the brig. In fact the first time Peck had pleaded to return to prison had been five days into the training but now it was becoming more frequent and Smith recognised it for what it was. Although Peck would never admit it to anyone, especially himself, he was coming around to the Colonel's way of thinking.

"That's 'Take me back to the brig, Sir!' Peck!" Hannibal could never resist rubbing it in.

The mud creature began to stir, climbing painfully to his feet and groaning as he automatically reached for his pack, shouldering its weight.

"Attention!" Without missing a beat Peck assumed the position. "Around the perimeter, double time. Let's go soldier!" Hannibal barked. Murdock thought he heard another pitiful groan but it could have just been the sound of sodden movement as the two men turned and moved away.

BA shook his head. "For someone who's supposed to be intelligent he sure seems to like mud."

Ray laughed. "It's not too long ago that I could have said the same about you, mud sucker!"

The big black man bristled. "At least I could see when I was beat," he pouted. "Man's a fool!"

"He's no fool, BA," Murdock countered.

"Why he keep back-mouthing the Colonel then? Why he keep refusing to call him Sir, when everybody knows he's the boss?"

Murdock sighed. "It's all about control, BA," he began. "The kid don't like to think he's not in control, so he does crazy things to show he's still got the power."

"But he ain't!"

"We know that and the Colonel knows that," Murdock replied patiently. "Now we just got to get the kid to understand it." He chewed his lip thoughtfully before adding. "And to realise that it really doesn't matter at all."

BA snorted and muttered. "Fool," under his breath.

"That's where you and the Colonel come in, Murdock," Ray said. "Me and BA, we just want a hooch we can get into, so we don't have to stand out here in the rain."

Murdock raised his hands in surrender. "I hear you! I'm on it….."

* * *

TBC 


	4. Chapter 4

**Warnings/Content**: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

* * *

PART THREE: _Advance_

"Get out the chopper, Lieutenant!"

"I can't, Sir!" Just speaking was difficult; his muscles would not move to his command.

The Colonel leaned in closer so the power of his anger would not be lost under the ear splitting throb of the rotors. "That's an order, Peck!" he screamed. "Get out and find cover now!"

Peck gulped shaking his head stubbornly. He had known this would happen, had tried to tell both the Colonel and Murdock the night before but had been unable to admit his weakness. It was one thing to put his body through the physical bashing Smith had forced on him, in a way he had enjoyed that challenge, the fact that he had had to push himself, couldn't hide in his old lazy ways. But this was different. This was the other side of the wire. This was out there!

He had begun to shiver even as they had walked to the chopper that morning. He had felt the fear deep within, crystallising far down in his gut but slowly, oh so slowly beginning to shatter outwards to claim his body. He had tried to explain again when he realised that Murdock was to be their pilot. Tried to get him alone but Murdock was preoccupied with the checks, mind already flying the mission and then the Colonel had called him in.

He sat quietly, eyes down to the floor, hands grasping his gun so tightly that they were pale as porcelain below the dirt. Across from him Ray and BA had muttered and beside him the Colonel had sung softly. But as the flight had progressed and the fear enslaved him he had lost all perception of what was around him. He couldn't fight it, didn't know how, as all of his senses shut down until he sat motionless, his body rigid and brittle as ice.

He had not even realised that the chopper had landed, was unaware that BA and Ray had already exited. He only came back to a world coloured by the intensity of his panic when the Colonel grabbed him and tried to heave him out of the chopper forcibly. Then the shaking took over so strongly that his teeth were chattering and his bowels lurched making him sure he would soil himself.

He looked up into the thunderous face of his commanding officer. He wanted to do what the Colonel was asking but he just could not. He closed his eyes unable to hold the questioning stare, waiting for the torrent of abuse that he knew would come, knew that he deserved!

But instead he felt the Colonel's strong hands push him back roughly into the seat. Then the hands were gone. The change in noise of the rotors that occurred some time later he barely heard and he never felt the lift as the chopper took off. He sat where his Colonel had placed him, eyes tight shut both to keep out the world and to keep in the tears that threatened to escape from his heart.

He had failed before but never had he felt this overwhelming despair. He knew suddenly it came from the fact that he had never cared before who he let down in the past. This time he just could not forget the look of complete betrayal he had seen in Colonel Smith's eyes and he knew he never would.

Miserable, petrified and so very much alone, he curled up in the back of the helicopter as his soul shrivelled.

* * *

Peck slowly came around feeling the touch of a hand gently stroking his arm.

"Faceyman," the familiar voice purred. "Come back to me, baby. Gotta get you out of my chopper. Gotta get you some place where you feel safe."

'_Faceyman'._ Only one person called him that.

Murdock had explained it all to him when they were alone one day. When the Colonel had described him to the rest of the team he had said 'Face like an angel but….' And when Murdock had finally met him he had seen how well the description fit. To the rest of the Team he was 'Peck' or simply 'Kid' since he hadn't earned the respect of a nickname that would come after they'd seen him in action the other side of the wire. Peck had subdued the shiver that disclosure had brought him; he didn't like to think what names they would call him after they saw just what he was capable of beyond the wire! But Murdock was determined to treat him differently and, as 'Face like an angel but" was a little long and sounded like a character from the Range Rider TV series, at which point Murdock had got slightly sidetracked discussing the merits of said programme, he had finally decided simply on 'Faceman' or some derivative thereof.

Peck had whined and moaned and generally appeared less than happy but Murdock had ignored him. The name had stuck between the two of them and Peck had been happier and more touched by the intimacy of the moment than he cared to think about.

With a groan Peck opened his eyes. It hurt. In fact everything hurt and he realised his body was taunt, stretched, every muscle rigid as if it were about to break.

"Ease off, Faceyman," Murdock's voice came again. "You gotta relax. Let go of the gun."

He looked down to see his hands clutching at the rifle in front of him. Rifle…. Gun …. Fight. It all came rushing back to him then; the fright, the fear and the betrayal. Smith's eyes.

"Oh shit," he breathed as he not only let go of the gun he forcibly pushed it away as if the thing was suddenly too hot to hold.

"That's good, kid," Murdock murmured. "Now let's get you home."

Murdock was still here? Murdock still wanted to help him even after he knew his shame? That was strange!

He gulped, allowed the pilot's hands to gently lift him, prise him from the seat where his commanding officer had put him. He found himself standing on shaky legs, walking, the world a blur that past him by until he found himself sitting on softness. The heavy clothes that had stuck uncomfortably to his body with his own sweat were being removed and his boots. He felt light as they moved again.

"Murdock?" His voice was hoarse, weak, powerless.

"Right here, Facey. Just gonna get you in the shower. Get rid of the grime. Careful here it's real slippery. That's right, you're doing good, real good. Now get ready, water's gonna be so cold…"

Peck grasped as the refreshing river rolled over his tired muscles. He shivered and would have fallen but for Murdock's strong arms holding him up. "Easy there. Deep breaths. Just relax kid."

Blinded and deafened by the water all Peck could sense was Murdock's presence. Vague images of other times, some happy, some painful spent in such an embrace fluttered through his tortured mind. His body knew how to react to this stimulus, knew how to escape the fear that haunted him. It had done so many times before, was doing it now but his mind was different. His mind could not escape the despairing fog that had engulfed it, could not think nor plan, knew nothing save the impending doom that would take him soon. So he clung to Murdock with all the desperation of a lost soul, nuzzling into the other man's neck, searching blindly for a sanctuary his mind knew did not exist.

Murdock held Peck tightly, his own mind in turmoil. He felt the kid's erection where it throbbed into his thigh. He felt the urge to move to it. Wasn't this living the dream he had been enjoying for weeks? He'd wanted the kid the first time he'd set eyes on him, felt that telltale squirm in his belly as the angel had fixed him with those stunning blue eyes and beguiled him with that perfect smile – the man should come with a warning of the power of that weapon! It had been lust pure and simple. Murdock had done some digging, found out the kid's reputation and knew he would probably be up for it. Oh, how part of the pilot wished he had acted on it there and then. But he had hesitated, followed Hannibal's orders and decided to get to know the kid. In doing so had sealed his own fate. Wasn't just lust anymore, was something a whole lot more powerful and something truly terrifying.

So what to do now? Act on his lust; squash the seedling that was their germinating friendship under foot? Kid was ripe and ready, probably wouldn't even remember it in the morning. And after today's little performance he was going to have a hell of a lot more to worry about than what the pilot did to him in the shower.

Murdock drew in a deep breath, looked at the angelic face below him, eyes tightly shut, wide red mouth slightly pouting, strong jaw…..

And that was just it wasn't it? Kid was in deep trouble now; needed a friend more than ever, more than a cheap screw in a cold shower that was for sure. He bent forwards, mouth aching to touch, his hand running up Peck's willing body, coming to rest on his cheek, stroking the soft skin there. The kid sensed it too, wasn't he moving, adjusting his weight slightly, pursing his lips, waiting….. Kid knew the score all right. He may look like one but Peck certainly was no angel. Murdock licked his own lips; the sense of potential rapture was so strong it was almost a living thing between them.

And that in the end was what stopped the pilot. The sudden insight that if it could feel this good in this place at this time, how good would it feel in the proper place at the right time? The thought hit him hard as a freight train, causing him to gulp back his passion, close his mouth, and stand up straight.

"Relax, Faceman," he breathed. "It's gonna be all right."

And at his words Peck's eyes opened, wide not with pain or fear but with gratitude. After an instant he nodded slightly, looked down, and hugged deep into the pilot's rangy body. They stayed there for long minutes, each one revelling in the simple close contact of another being and then Murdock pulled the rope that stopped the water. He grabbed a towel and wrapped Peck in it. After he had rubbed himself dry he sat next to the lieutenant on the step. The blonde head hung limply forwards, shoulders stooped and as he sat down Murdock heard the weak voice mutter, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Shush, Faceyman," he said, unsure what the kid was referring to.

Those eyes came up to his again, this time wide in desperation as they stared at him. "I really blew it this time," he whispered. "I should have told you all." He looked down at his hands, squeezed them guiltily. "Never could. I'm not a soldier."

Unable to stop himself Murdock threw supportive arms around those contrite shoulders. "Don't worry. Colonel will sort it, he always does."

Peck groaned despondently, but his voice was stronger. He seemed to be returning from the numb place he had been since the aborted mission. "You didn't see his eyes, Murdock. I let him down big."

"I saw them when he told me to bring you back here and look after you. He may play the big heavy but that's only cos he has to; Hannibal cares about you. We all do, is that so hard to accept?"

Peck gulped. "Why would anyone care about me?" he asked.

The genuine puzzlement in the kid's tone caused Murdock's heart to go cold. "Facey," he said softly. "You gotta understand, the Colonel, he's a leader, he looks into men's hearts and he sees …. things! I don't know cos I'm not him but I do know that in all the time I've known him he's never been wrong about any soldier." He shook his head violently. "No sir, he ain't never wrong."

"Always a first time," Peck mused. "Disappointment I can deliver right on time!"

"Nope, not this time buddy, Colonel won't let you fail!"

Peck let out a long sigh of resignation. "I appreciate your support, Murdock," he said. "But even the Colonel can't make a soldier out of a snivelling piece of jello who pisses his pants every time he goes outside the wire. It's not gonna happen." He gently pulled away from the comfort and security of the embrace and stood up. "Guess I better go pack my stuff."

"Face, at least wait until Hannibal gets back. He'll have a plan!" Murdock stood up, took a step towards the other man, his towel falling to the ground.

Peck smirked, his eyes going down Murdock's all too ready body. "You're a beautiful man, HM," he said. "I wouldn't have stopped you in the shower, you know."

Murdock nodded. "I know. Wasn't right not here, not now. You mean more to me than that, Faceman."

Peck sighed, his smirk maturing to his fully fledged killer smile on full power. "I don't like to be obliged to anyone but for you I'll make an exception. Name your time and place, Murdoch, I owe you that much."

Murdock nodded again, biting his lip as emotion rushed through him. "That's a promise I'll keep you to some day, Templeton Peck!"

Peck just smiled, shrugged his shoulders and left. The instant his smile was gone Murdock sensed the temperature drop by a good five degrees!

* * *

Murdock stood on the threshold of the Colonel's office waiting until his eyes adjusted to the meagre light coming from the desk lamp. He saw Smith sitting behind the desk and cleared his throat. The silver head lifted.

"Come in, Captain," Hannibal said.

"Colonel," Murdock lowered his head in respect. "You look tired, Sir. Isn't it time you got some sleep?"

Smith nodded. "I'll sleep after we've got this taken care of. He with you?"

Murdock nodded. "Outside, like you ordered."

Hannibal leaned forwards and Murdock noted the whiskey and two glasses on the desk for the first time. The Colonel poured the rich brown liquid slowly, careful not to spill a drop and then passed it to the pilot who accepted it silently.

Hannibal shook his head. "It was going so well. I thought he was beginning to respond, beginning to trust us. Procurement is certainly not a problem, he's getting fitter, even his whining has got more positive. So what the hell went wrong today?"

Murdock took a long slug of whiskey. Felt its warmth burn all the way down to his stomach. "It's like he's got to be an extreme," he began softly. "Like to begin with he wouldn't talk to a soul, then suddenly he started scamming. Then he went overboard the other way, BA and Ray made me talk to him to get him to stop!" He paused, pursed his lips realising he was rambling but the point was important enough to make that he knew he should carry on. "Reckon we've got to teach him what its like to be in the centre, away from the black and the white, in the whole lot of grey in the middle like the rest of us. Until he sees that he's just gonna hover from one extreme to the other, angel to devil, good to bad, ultra confident to scared little kid."

Hannibal sighed and refilled both glasses. "It's not his fault, Murdock. I've read his file and it does seem like he's never had a chance, never seen a good example to learn from. He had to pick it up as he went along, you learn like that and you're gonna pick up bad habits. The army should have cured him of his vices, should have pointed him in the right direction. That it hasn't proves he's one stubborn kid. And after today's escapade I just don't know. I must admit I suspected something like it but I thought we could help him through it. I have never seen anybody that bad." He paused and then added in such a quiet voice that Murdock was unsure whether he was supposed to hear. "Well maybe once."

Forcing away his curiosity at the Colonel's statement, Murdock focused on the case in point. "There's something in him worth the trouble Colonel. I know it and you do too. It's hidden well deep but it's there."

Smith fixed him with his uncompromising stare. "Are you sure that's not just your lust talking, Captain?"

Murdock flushed, suddenly feeling over warm in the confines of the office. He knew the Colonel knew about him. They had come to an understanding some time ago and it had never been mentioned again not until now. But it was a possibility they had to consider. He smiled tightly. "No Sir! He's a cute little thing and I don't say that I haven't been tempted but even if it is my excuse, it's not what you saw. And you chose him for the Team not me." He took another swig of the scotch. "It's like we just have to find a way to get what you saw out. Maybe it's only a tiny weenie little spark now but we have to find a way to make it into a huge great flame."

"You really think?" Smith took a cigar from the box on his desk.

Slowly Murdock leaned back, swirling the contents in his glass and watching the blend of colours reflected there. "Extremes, Colonel," he repeated softly. "Right now the kid's at the wrong end of the soldier scale but we both know, given the right effort he could finish up at the other end."

Smith sucked on his cigar for a while. "We need to find the key. Build on that."

They were silent for a while and Murdock remembered that Peck was waiting outside, trying desperately to look nonchalant while the little boy inside him must be screaming in consternation. Visions of the kid flashed through his mind. He remembered the killer smile but also the vulnerability in the shower, the glower of hatred as he stared out from a muddy face struggling to finish a training exercise and the grin of triumph as he presented the pilot only a couple of days ago with a special edition comic book supposedly only available back home. Lord; that feeling of burning desire in his deepest being was back. He had had him so close and been strong enough to push him away. Now Murdock knew, no matter what he couldn't allow Hannibal to send Peck away. They had to keep him here. But how to do that? Suddenly the beginnings of a plan formed in the pilot's mind. "Didn't you say he wasn't a bad shot?" he said, his calmness belying the rush of hope that suddenly crashed through him.

Hannibal nodded. "From what I can tell that's about the only thing he didn't fake on his training scores."

"Then we've got something to work on!"

The Colonel rolled his eyes and smiled. "I see where you're coming from and I like it Murdock, I like it! Go bring him in."

"You want me to come back with him?" Murdock asked.

"No," Hannibal shook his head. "I reckon this little interview should just be between the two of us. Kid's been through enough today. Let's make it as painless as possible for all of us."

Murdock nodded with relief, slammed down the rest of his drink and turned to leave.

Minutes later Peck stood to attention before his commanding officer. He could feel the apprehension deep in the pit of his belly but he breathed deeply, forcing it down, telling himself he didn't care. Didn't care whether he stayed or went. He would survive this; he would find a way to compensate. Winning was not important, enduring that's what counted, just existing, so you could fight another day.

"Lieutenant Peck," Hannibal began.

"Sir!"

"I think we had a little problem today."

"Sir!"

"Captain Murdock and myself have been discussing how we might progress from here."

"Sir!"

"Stand easy." Peck complied, the gulping of his throat the only sign of the emotion that was rushing through him. "Murdock informs me you have been packing your things. Why?"

Peck licked his lips, hesitated. "I … I.."

"Spit it out soldier," Smith's voice was kind.

"As you know Sir, the truth is not always as important as it should be to me. I'm not honest very often," Peck confessed, his words were measured and unusually pensive. "But maybe I owe you that much at least."

Smith rolled his eyes. "From you I would accept that as an honour, Lieutenant."

Peck sighed, narrowing his eyes as he tried to ascertain whether the Colonel was being ironic with him or not. Again he was frustrated to realise he could not read the Colonel's purpose. Uncomfortable with the prospect, he nevertheless forced himself to continue. "There is no place for cowards in the Special Forces." He was fighting to keep the emotion from his voice. "And especially not in your Team, Sir!"

"And that is what you are?"

"Yes Sir!"

Smith shook his head. "What makes you think that, Peck?"

A look of real pain escaped and flashed across the lieutenant's face. His eyes were wide pleading for a second and then he gulped again, took hold of himself. Did he not deserve this? Well he maybe could not control himself in a war but sure as hell he could in this situation. Disciplinary interview with his commanding officer, he had been here before, many times. Experience had shown him that he could endure this, may even thrive if he could just keep his cool and string along a line. Be humble, play to the Colonel's vanity. "I'm not a soldier, Sir, not like you. I don't do Teams very well and I can't fight. I can do all the other things you require of me but not those. And after all they're the reasons we're all here."

"Would you agree with me that cowards don't have balls, Lieutenant?"

Peck nodded. "Yes, Sir!"

"I think it takes balls to have the nerve to change your grades in Special Forces training. I don't think a coward would have the nerve to do that. Or how about engineering a brawl in a crowded bar?"

"That's different, Sir."

"In what way, Lieutenant?"

Peck shrugged, looked away from Smith's gaze, trying to hold on to his composure. "Does it really matter? I didn't hack it. Do we really have to dissect my failure, like some second grade biology lesson?" he snapped.

"Yes, it matters because we need to find a way to help you with your problem. Everybody is scared the other side of the wire, only an imbecile wouldn't be. I don't want imbeciles on my Team."

It suddenly dawned on Peck where this conversation was leading. "You're not sending me away?" he asked tentatively.

"Why the hell should I do that?"

"Because three times I've gone out there to be a soldier and three times I've crapped my pants. Why will it be different on the fourth, the fifth or the hundredth and fifth?"

Smith shrugged. "And running away is going to solve that particular problem? I don't think so. I've been a soldier for a long time and I know there is only one way to help you through this - we're gonna work on it, kid. You're part of my Team – the best Team - and we don't give up on each other."

Peck shook his head. "I don't understand. I'm useless, why should you put your butt on the line for me? I'm a liability. It makes no sense."

"Let's just say you remind me of a kid I knew back in Korea in '52, all wise talk, tough acting but scared shitless too."

"And?"

"Turned into one of the best damn soldiers in this man's army." The Colonel leaned back into his chair.

"And you think…. that I ….?" Peck found himself suddenly lost for words, an unfamiliar feeling which he did not find particularly comfortable.

"Yeah I do." The Colonel's eyes were wide with honesty. "This isn't about what happened today outside the wire, well not entirely anyway. I know that deep inside of you is a fighter, kid. Maybe you just haven't found the right person to bring it out in a positive way; you've certainly used it to your own advantage in the past. You lack commitment to anything but yourself, maybe that fault has come from the way the rest of the world has treated you, not from your own flaws. You're had it rough kid, I know, but you've found ways to survive." Smith paused for a long second, eyes spearing the younger man's. "Do you know what your deepest fear is kid?"

Peck shook his head slowly, uneasy with the way this conversation was moving into uncharted territory and turning into a clinical analysis session of his inner thoughts and fears. He tried not to think about them and he was mystified as to why Smith should be so interested.

But the Colonel carried on relentlessly. "I think it's not that you think you're inadequate. I think you fear that you may succeed at something, something that benefits the rest of the world not just yourself. I think you're scared you may find you're not the failure you think you are but that you may actually have some value, some positive reason for being here. I think it's the light inside you not the darkness that frightens you most; the possibility that you may find a place in my Team, a place where you are cherished, where you have worth. Experience has shown you that you are going to be rejected, so you reject everything first. Well I'm not going to send you away; I'm not going to reject you. I'm gonna give you the chance to shine, Lieutenant cos I think you have qualities that you don't even know you've got!"

Peck smiled ruefully. "You are one goddamn, crazy son of a bitch!" he murmured.

"Crazy maybe, but you're not arguing with me!" The Colonel was smiling again. "So are we gonna do this thing or not? Teach you how to change your fear to something positive. Teach you to shine. Teach you about the jazz? Are you going to commit to me and my Team?"

Peck held the older man's gaze and suddenly felt safe in the confidence he saw in those deep eyes, safer than he ever had in his life before. No one had ever spoken to him in such a way. No one had ever taken the time to see behind his façade before. Peck felt suddenly and powerfully special. "Yes Sir!" he snapped back to attention.

Smith beamed. "Then tomorrow, as my Supplies Officer, I want you to go out and procure the best damn sniper rifle you can find."

Peck rolled his eyes. "Why?"

Smith smirked fondly. "That's 'Why Sir?' to you, Peck! And instead of asking stupid questions just follow orders for once!"

Peck smiled. "Yes, Sir!"

"Now get out and let me finish this damn paperwork so I can get some shut-eye."

* * *

TBC 


	5. Chapter 5

**Warnings/Content**: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

* * *

PART FOUR: _Parade Rest_

Lieutenant Templeton Peck allowed himself to luxuriate in the strong sunshine that was basking the camp. Relaxation was a feeling he had known only rarely in his life but he felt quite justified in allowing it to roll through him now. He leaned back on to the deck chair he had procured and drew on his cigarette lazily; life was good!

BA and Ray were down at the motor workshops working on the jeep that Peck had acquired for the Team a week ago. It had taken some quick talking but ultimately not been a problem to get the sergeant in charge to sign the vehicle over on an unrestricted loan for Colonel Smith. Peck figured that the Colonel should have a vehicle that reflected his station but the jeep was all he could come by and Smith had undeniably been impressed, his smile only being surpassed by that of Baracus when he realised what Peck had done. From a very young age BA had dearly loved to fiddle with cars, had missed it tremendously, and suddenly being presented with something to work on, he let out a whoop of glee as he gathered the young lieutenant up in a bone-crushing hug. When off duty he was now rarely seen anywhere but the workshop. Ray too, not a stranger to a little tinkering with an internal combustion engine, accompanied him more often than not.

Peck smiled to himself as he remembered the gratitude of the three men that day. It had made him feel warm inside and he wanted to feel it again. As he sat soaking up the rays and smoking, he began to realise that he was feeling something that he had been missing all his life. He stopped the thought unwilling to process it further, unwilling to examine his own feelings. It was enough for now that BA had hugged him, that Ray had clasped him on the back and most importantly that the Colonel had fixed him with that appreciative grin.

The grin had been in evidence again later too. He had seen it as he notched up another perfect score on the rifle range. The weapon that he had acquired felt good in his hands. He could control it; he could focus his entire being on it. When he held that rifle in his arms and aimed at the target, nothing else mattered, he was in complete control and it felt so good. He knew that conditions on the range were very different from outside the wire but he also trusted that Colonel Smith could get him through that too.

Colonel Smith was even now at the briefing for their next mission. Over the past days, as they had worked together Peck's admiration for the Colonel had grown. The guy was as unorthodox as they came but he got results. Smith also had to be quite some conman himself, the way he had engineered the past few weeks; got the Team out of all missions, got limitless access to the range, even arranged for Peck to take a few flights out with Murdock just to get used to the chopper. The first time had been chilling but the more he did, the more comfortable Peck had become, until the day before he had even taken a time as the rear gunner and sprayed the jungle below them. Suddenly the green canopy and the enemy it concealed did not seem so frightening.

But flying above it was infinitely different to marching through it. Peck shuddered. Tomorrow they would find out if Smith's methods had been effective. Tomorrow was his first mission since the awful aborted one three weeks ago. Taking a long draw on his cigarette Peck forced the fear away, didn't want to think on it, not now, now he was just soaking up the sun and allowing himself a brief respite. He closed his eyes, sighed, allowed his guard down.

"Well what do we have here?"

The voice was gratingly familiar. Peck opened his eyes, saw the figures in front of him but was unable to recognise the features of their faces because they were lost as shadows in the blazing sun above him.

"Thought you were long gone, pretty boy!"

Peck shielded his eyes and squinted. "Stepford," he breathed.

"That's right, Peck. I'm surprised you remember me. Do you also remember how much you owe me? Or has that all been forgotten now you're a 'proper' soldier?" The voice was oozing the promise of violence and the men who accompanied Stepford moved in closer.

Peck gulped but stood up nonchalantly, refusing to be intimidated as he ground the cigarette butt into the dust below his feet. "I owe you?" he smiled. "I don't recall that at all, Stepford. As I remember it I put a deal of business your way, made you a lot of money, more than an asshole like you has any right to earn. If anything it's you who owes me."

He made to move past the hulky brute in front of him but Stepford grabbed hold of him by the shirt. He lifted him and banged him against the wall of the supply hut the lieutenant had been sitting in front of. Peck groaned as the breath was forced out of him. Stepford was only inches away, spitting in to his face, breath rancid with stale beer.

"Let me remind you, you goddamn shit!" The anger grating in his voice. "That last shipment, you ended up in the brig, I never got paid and so my supplier never got paid. He's putting pressure on me and I thought you were long gone. Imagine my pleasure when I found out that you were still here, that I could pass the pressure on to you, pass it down the line." As he spoke he banged Peck's head on to the wood behind him. "Pay me now, I'm out of here and I'll leave you to your new friends and the gook bullet that's undoubtedly waiting for you out there."

"I ….. if you just….." Peck squeaked, head thumping, his face going redder as his windpipe was squeezed. "….let me down…."

Stepford dropped him then and he landed, an untidy heap on the floor, coughing weakly. "I'm goddamn waiting, Peck!" Stepford pushed after a few seconds when it became evident that the gagging man was not about to make any further coherent comment.

"Jesus!" Peck gasped. "Give me a break!"

Stepford grunted impatiently and signalled to two of his goons who moved in instantly, took hold of Peck's arms and lifted him back to his feet.

"Thank you," Peck smiled smarmily, as he pulled his arms free and began to brush himself down. Finally he looked up at Stepford who was simmering in front of him. "Look, Stepford," he began, the embodiment of friendliness. "I understand your problem but you've got to see this from my point of view." Stepford growled so Peck continued quickly, raising a placating hand. "I've been out of the game for a while but I was going to contact you. I have a little cashflow problem right now…." Stepford growled again and took a menacing step forward. "… However I'm working on it. I will get your money to you as soon as I can. Promise!" He finished it off with his best smile.

Stepford glowered. "You haven't changed a bit; you're a lying, cheating little prick and I don't trust you as far as I can throw you." He reached out and ran a hand down Peck's face. "But there are other ways I can get you to pay me back. Ways I know that you can deliver to my satisfaction."

Peck flushed, jerking his head away from the probing hand, he didn't see the punch coming until Stepford buried his fist deep into his stomach. The lieutenant collapsed to his knees with a groan of pain, his arms clutching the place where the blow had fallen.

"You've got until the end of the week, Peck," Stepford spat. "Then I'll come looking for you and I'll make that cute ass of yours pay in full!"

"Nice to see you again, too!" Peck forced himself to call out through his pain as Stepford and his goons moved away.

"Trouble, Lieutenant?"

Peck eased his body around to see Colonel Smith approaching him. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to his feet, rubbing his belly ruefully. "Some people just cannot argue without resorting to violence, Colonel," he tried to make his tone as light as possible.

Smith just stared at him for a long minute. "Sergeant Stepford," he breathed finally.

"You know him?"

The Colonel took a cigar from his pocket. "Oh yeah, I know him," he replied wistfully. "Slimeball of the first order. Is there anything you want to tell me, Lieutenant?"

Peck looked away, out into the jungle and gulped. He shook his head slowly. "No, Sir."

Smith remained staring at him for a long time. "Very well," he replied finally. Then he pushed past the younger man and made his way purposefully towards his office.

Peck let out a long sigh. He felt suddenly deflated and ran his hand through his hair in a gesture of resignation. The fault was his of course – he had allowed himself to relax, allowed himself to take his eye off the ball. Experience had taught him that when he did that disaster was sure to follow and he had allowed himself to forget that – sloppy, very sloppy! All this being part of a team had made him feel too secure, too safe. He had to guard against it, stay strong, stay focused and start thinking how he was going to come up with the money to pay Stepford because the other option was not appealing in the least.

He began walking as his brain ticked over. Unaware of where he was going he was somewhat shocked to realise some time later that he had arrived at the helicopter landing pads. He stopped, watching as a number of mechanics pottered around the grounded birds. Their movements became more animated and Peck squeezed his eyes to make out the returning choppers, mere specks in the darkening sky, rushing to make it home before the night rolled in.

Within ten minutes they had landed. Peck moved forward when he made out the rangy figure of Murdock hopping out of his seat. He was laughing, talking with his crew, slapping them on their backs and Peck felt a sudden pang of jealousy rush up his gut – surprised he squashed it and pushed it away. Where the hell did that come from?

Hesitantly he moved forwards. "Murdock!" he called.

"Faceyman!" The pilot beamed. "What you doing here?" His face suddenly grew tense. "What's happened?"

Peck shrugged. "Nothing," he admitted, feeling stupid. What was he doing here? "I em …. Just wanted to see you, just wanted to talk."

"'Fraid not Face," Murdock shook his head. "Gotta debrief."

Much to his consternation, Peck found himself pouting. "I'll wait," he muttered indicating that Murdock should return to his waiting crew. The pilot pursed his lips, bending slightly to look into Peck's eyes but the conman had taken control of himself assuming his bland, uncommunicative expression.

"You sure everything is OK?" Murdock shrugged. "OK. Be as quick as I can!"

Peck stood smoking as he waited but true to his word, Murdock was back in less than ten minutes, his face still showing concern for his friend as he lead the way to the Officer's Club. A number of pilots had beaten them there and they dealt out some good natured banter as Murdock arrived with the grunt lieutenant. Still buzzing on his adrenaline from the mission the pilot waved them away, ordered two beers and sat at a table at the other end of the bar.

"So, Faceyman, you want to talk," he began.

Peck sighed. Lifted up his beer and then put it back down on the table without drinking. His eyes were shy when he admitted, "Not really. I wanted to listen."

"Listen?" Murdock rolled his eyes.

Peck nodded. "Talk to me about something normal, Murdock," he asked. "About TV or music or football."

Murdock drew in a deep breath, his eyes never leaving his companion. He had never know the kid ask for anything before and he knew that in doing so Face was revealing a weakness that he would never normally disclose. "You're acting mighty strange, Face, you want to tell me what's eating you?"

Peck grimaced. "Not really," he said, eyes glued to his long fingers as they fiddled with the label on his beer bottle. He looked up shyly. "I'm not good at this team thing but I just love it when you treat me like one of the guys."

It was more than the lieutenant had ever allowed into the open before and Murdock felt humbled to be afforded such confidential information. Forgetting where he was for a moment he reached out towards Peck's hand but the kid shook his head and pulled his hand out of reach, his eyes flashing his alarm as he nodded toward the other pilots. Getting the message Murdock diverted his hand to pull the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He took one then threw the packet to Peck. As he bent forward to light it, Murdock whispered, "What am I going to do with you, kid?"

Ignoring the cigarettes, Peck licked his lips lecherously as an idea of what may lessen the empty, insecure feeling in his soul hit him. His eyes were wide and bright in the dim light. "I can think of something!" he purred embracing the role immediately as a drowning man clings to a life raft. "I still owe you, don't forget."

Murdock sighed as the familiar wave of lust rushed over him. God the kid was tempting! Hadn't he thought long and hard about this since the episode in the shower? And hadn't he come to the painful conclusion that he had been right to control himself there and he had to continue to do so; the kid needed a friend, a big brother, so much more than he needed a lover. Things were stressful for the boy, complicated enough and they were going to get worse over the coming days without introducing sex into the equation. Deep inside Murdock knew he was making the right decision but that left him with another problem – how to let this fragile soul down without subjecting him to further pain especially since Peck had been brave enough to reveal the cravings of normalcy of the scared boy that he hid so deeply behind the arrogant conman facade.

To give himself time, Murdock took a long swig of his beer. "Not here, Face," he said finally.

Peck smiled, rolling his eyes towards the boisterous pilots. "Well obviously," he said. "But there are other, more suitable places."

Murdock shook his head, feeling his heart lurch, as the knowing smile of the lieutenant's face froze into a pinched look of betrayal as the pilot spoke. "It's not right, Face," Murdock forced himself to continue, voice neutrally calm. "I want to be your friend more than anything but…."

"My friend!" Peck hissed. "You can be my goddamned friend – I thought you wanted more!" He shook his head, voice rising dangerously loud. "The shower…. you said…"

"Easy, Facey!" Murdock reached out again, this time taking hold of his hand. "I know what I said."

Peck's face contorted with pain and anger – rejection again! It never did get any less painful! "Oh I get it," he hissed. "You were overcome by the moment. Now you remember who I am, what I am, I'm not so enticing, huh?"

"Shush!" Murdock tried to placate the kid. "Believe me you are more enticing than you will ever know but….."

Peck shook his head violently. He was not listening because he knew exactly what Murdock was saying. He had heard it too many times from the families who failed to accept him for adoption at the orphanage to the excuses of Leslie Becktall emotionlessly recited to him by her friend. Damn Murdock! Damn them all! He stood up and his chair made a loud grating noise on the floor, calling the attention of everyone in the bar to their table. All was suddenly silent and the change in atmosphere was enough to jerk Peck's ever alert self preservation senses back into control. He hesitated only for a second. "Forget it!" he snarled and stalked out of the Club.

The pilots continued to gaze expectantly at Murdock. One even shouted across but the lanky pilot ignored them. Instead he sat quietly on his seat and finished his beer as inside his heart wept.

* * *

"Tell me about the kid," Peck's voice was strained above the noise of the chopper's rotors. "The one you knew in Korea."

Hannibal eyed him minutely, picking up the muscle flexing nervously on the kid's jaw, his wild eyes and the tense grip of his hands on the sniper rifle resting between his legs. He was strung out the Colonel could see but then he had known this would be hard. Still Smith suspected there was more to it than just the pressure of this first mission outside the wire. The scene with Stepford for one thing but also something had happened between Murdock and the boy. They were normally close and Smith had ensured he had got the lanky pilot assigned to this mission but when they arrived to embark Peck had looked straight through him and just climbed into the chopper. Murdock had shrugged at Smith's unspoken question and got into the cockpit, sending the reasons for the response spinning around the Colonel's head, possibilities that would have to be explored but not yet. First they had to get through this mission.

And give the kid credit he was definitely trying. Hannibal knew what he was doing asking about Korea and he would respond of course – anything to get Peck's mind away from the fear that must be eating him up.

"He was a real hard nut. Grew up on the streets, I guess, that's where he learned never to trust anybody. Thought he could do everything on his own, thought he was in control," he stopped. Peck was studiously avoiding his glance but looking out over the green canopy as it skirted by below. Hannibal sucked his cigar and waited.

Finally blue eyes came back to look at him as Peck gulped nervously. "What happened to him?"

"Made the grade as I told you, kid. Learnt to control his fear," Smith shrugged. "Though it was a painful process for all involved."

Peck opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it and clamped it shut again. The Colonel reached across and laid a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder, felt it shivering. "You'll be fine, kid," he soothed. "Just follow BA like we agreed. Ray and I'll keep you safe. Then you just pull the trigger and come right on out again. Piece of cake."

"Piece of cake," Peck repeated less than convinced. "Yeah, right Sir!"

But in the end that's exactly what it was! Within four hours they were back at base, Peck having fought the all-encompassing fear long enough to squeeze his rifle's trigger and consign the Viet Cong General at the end of his sights to hell with one clean shot. Then it was a mad dash out again, eyes flashing desperately trying to pick out any booby traps hidden on the forest floor, BA's back bobbing reassuringly in front of him back to the pick up point where Murdock was waiting…. piece of cake!

Smith threw his arm around Peck as they made their way back to the hooch. "You done good, kid!" he beamed. "How about a drink to celebrate?" He was a little unsure about the effect the cold-blooded killing might have on the kid but Peck seemed to be unconcerned by it and Smith wondered if it was the first time he had killed a man, he suspected it was not.

Peck shook his head. "Thank you, Sir but I'm worn out. Reckon I'll just go to bed."

"That's hardly a way for a hero to celebrate!" Smith tried again as the rest of the Team came up behind them. The Colonel noticed the kid's eyes rest for a second on Murdock, the perfect face flushed noticeably even in the evening light. Something big had certainly happened there which was obviously more important to Peck than the execution of an enemy general.

"I'm no hero, Sir," the lieutenant said softly as he forced his eyes back to his commanding officer. "And we all know it. Reckon you'll all enjoy a drink more without me around."

"Lieutenant, how many times do I have to tell you, you are part of the team now. And I would rather drink with my Team than anyone else on this planet," Smith retorted.

"Is this an order, Sir?" Peck asked stiffly. He wanted to be anywhere else than in the cooped up Officer's Club near Murdock but Smith's hand on his shoulder was compelling.

"If that's what it takes, kid."

So Peck found himself sitting between BA and the Colonel in the hot and stuffy club. Murdock sat across from him but from what Peck could see out of the corner of his eye as he studiously ignored the pilot, he was involved in a whispered conversation with Ray. They seemed to be planning something but Peck cared little for what it was. He sipped at his beer slowly, nodding his head when he felt it was appropriate to what the others, notably Smith, were saying but not paying any real note to the words. He was tired, the strain of the day's escapade having sapped all the nervous energy he normally existed on, and he really did want to crash.

Eventually BA stood up to get more beer – Peck still hadn't finished his first but had managed to swap it with Ray's empty one when the rest of the team's attention had been taken as four sweetly curved nurses had entered the club. Taking advantage of the moment for a second time Peck stood up.

"I gotta go," he muttered.

"After those nurses, eh, Lieutenant?" Smith rolled his eyebrows knowingly.

Ordinarily Peck would have leapt to the challenge, particularly as he knew Murdock was watching him, but not this night. "Something like that, Sir," he muttered. He even threw the girls his best smile as he pushed past. Two of them looked interested but Peck simply filed the information for later – there would be other nights when he could explore those particular opportunities. This night, he just had to sleep.

Smith turned his eyes to Murdock who was longingly watching the lieutenant's retreating back, his mouth slightly open and a dazed look on his face.

"You want to tell me what's going on between you and the kid, Captain?" Smith pulled the pilot back from his reverie.

Murdock smiled a lazy, slightly alcoholic smile. "No, Sir," he drawled. "But I categorically guarantee it will be fixed by the end of the night!"

Smith nodded. "I don't have to tell you not to hurt him, do I Murdock?"

The pilot shook his head. "That is absolutely the last thing I intend to do, Sir!" he confirmed.

* * *

It was dark.

Peck woke with a start as the strong arms encircled him, a hand over his mouth. He tried to struggle but he was held immobile as the arms lifted him and threw him over a shoulder.

Peck groaned at the pain but then, realising his mouth was free started to whine. "What the….?"

"Shut up!" The voice commanded as Peck felt the dig in his ribs. He ignored it. "Get the hell…." He began again. There was a muttered curse from the shadow and the gag was stuffed roughly into the lieutenant's mouth, then his hands were tied. "Just couldn't follow an order even now!" somebody muttered.

Then they were moving out of the hooch and through the camp, Peck's head bouncing painfully against the rump of the man that carried him. Had to be Stepford, Peck reasoned but damn the man he was two days early! Peck allowed his sense of completely unjustified fairness to be suitably affronted before he began plotting on how to get out of this mess. He didn't have the money, hadn't had any chance to get it yet. He was hoping that inspiration would hit him once the mission was over with but it hadn't yet so that left the other option. He let out a frustrated whimper through the gag.

They were slowing down. Hadn't gone far so Stepford was either going to take him on neutral ground or it wasn't the big sergeant at all. But if not him who? Peck tried to turn his head to get a look at the figure that accompanied the one carrying him but it hovered just out of his line of sight. He wasn't frightened – he had survived episodes like this before too many times not to know that he had to just stay cool and await an opportunity.

Jesus they were at the latrines! Peck wrinkled his nose in disgust, part of his mind noting that it was about time they were relocated again. Peck hoped some other fool would be required to do the manual labour this time! They were going up the wooden steps his head banged the hand rail and Peck let out an annoyed grunt. Then they were through the door, he was being pulled upright and thrust painfully through into the cubicle, to be forced to sit on the toilet seat, pressed into it unceremoniously. He pulled himself back upright just as the figure exited the door, leaving him sitting alone and perplexed.

As his tied hands went up to try to remove the gag the door opened again. His eyes widened in surprise and his hands fell back to his side for framed in the doorway was none other than Murdock.

The pilot sidled into the cubicle, his eyes drinking in the scrumptious sight before him. "Hello, Lieutenant Peck," he murmured in a rich, deep voice.

Peck shuffled, tried to stand up but the pilot's two hands pressed firmly to his chest forced him back down. "No," Murdock said. "Last night you said you wanted to listen and then when I tried to tell you, you promptly left. Tonight you will listen to me."

Peck gestured towards his gag and growled angrily. Murdock shook his head. "Not until you prove to me you can listen. Last night I tried to explain to you how it is going to be, you didn't listen. And today, when I tried to talk you continually turned that pretty little nose up at me, so now you have forced me to take action!"

Peck groaned again, his nostrils flaring but he remained still as somewhere deep inside a warm feeling began to burn. He would never admit it but he kind of liked it when Murdock spoke to him this way.

"You gonna listen to me now?" Murdock asked. "Are you?" Peck nodded unenthusiastically as he covered his arousal by stuffing his hands into his lap and forced his eyes to spit their anger. "Good!" Murdock hesitated as voices from outside drifted into them.

"Not in there, you're not sucka!" came BA 's voice. "This latrine is out of bounds. Go find somewhere else, now!"

Peck shivered, his eyes widening. Murdock smiled. "That's right Faceyman. Ain't no-one gonna come and rescue you until we're finished. BA and Ray gonna see to that! You see they know we need to have a little chat – get the ground rules fixed." He leaned back against the wall, lightly stroking Peck's left knee as he continued. "See, yesterday you questioned whether you were enticing enough for me and I just wanted to put the record straight." He reached across and ran his hand softly across Peck's cheek. Despite the incongruity of the situation Peck closed his eyes and moved his head slightly towards the hand. He moaned softly as his body responded to Murdock's caress. "Ain't no worries there, kid." Murdock breathed his voice slightly hoarse. "Never met anyone who could entice me more!"

The hand moved away and Peck re-opened his eyes to see Murdock draw in a long shuddering breath as he moved away and leaned back against the wall. "Did you read a lot when you were a kid, Face?" he asked. Looking slightly bemused Peck shook his head slowly. "I did." Murdock continued, "Spent hours down that library. Read loads of books but I remember one day I got this book down from the shelf. Man, it was beautiful, just calling out to me, sharp bright colours, attracting my eye, making my mouth dry with wanting. Did you ever find a book like that, Face?"

Again Peck shook his head. "Well I just couldn't resist it," Murdock continued. "Took it out that day. Wanted to read it there and then but I didn't. Took it to my bedroom, put it on the table next to my bed, stroked it at night but I still didn't read it. Time came for me to take it back. I renewed the loan of course but I still didn't read it. Do you know why Face?"

Peck drew in a ragged breath, fidgeted on the toilet seat but found himself unable to break Murdock's questioning stare. Finally he shook his head again.

"I was scared, Face; scared that the contents wouldn't match the cover, scared that it would be a disappointment. I couldn't believe that something so beautiful could live up to that splendour in all things."

Peck let out a whimper and his head fell forward. He thought he knew exactly what Murdock was telling him and it hurt so much he could feel the tears moisten his eyes; desperately he tried to sniff them back – he couldn't cry not here, not now. He had not cried in front of anyone since he was seven years old, he sure as hell wasn't going to start now! And yet the tears were falling, running down his cheeks inexorably.

Murdock was kneeling before him then. Gently lifting his head up, brushing away the tears. "Don't cry, Face," he soothed. "I haven't finished my story yet. You're doing it again, assuming what I'm saying before I've said it."

Peck shuddered forcing back his tears. He gulped past the damn gag, wanting more than anything to be able to push past this man and get out into the fresher air outside. Man, this latrine stunk and so did this conversation!

"OK Facey?" Murdoch asked, still dabbing lovingly at his cheeks. "Why do you always think so badly of yourself? Let me tell you the end of the story, please."

Peck closed his eyes, gulped in some more air. When he opened then again Murdock was staring at him, patiently waiting. He sighed resignedly and nodded.

"I did read the book eventually," Murdock said. "But I read it in my own time, when it felt right. I took my time over it, read each delicate page, savoured each word and you know what?" Peck shook his head mesmerised by Murdock's story. "It was the best goddamn book I ever read, I never took it back to the library. Its contents were even better than its cover!"

Jesus! Peck wanted to scream, he was crying again – what the hell was wrong with him? Murdock bent down and gently removed the gag. "Don't need that," he whispered. "Now you get my point."

"Murdock, I ….." Christ; his voice sounded so weak, so powerless, but that shock was not what stopped him from going further, that was Murdock's mouth bearing down on to his. The pilot forced himself on to Peck who fell backwards against the far wall of the cubicle but their mouths kept contact with each other, tongues entwined, bodies writhing.

And then as quickly as it started it was over. Murdock pulled back, stood above him with a warm, wide smile blaring across his mouth! His eyes looked down at the young lieutenant lit with an expression that Peck had seen others use before but such affection had never been centred on him.

Peck smiled ruefully. "I can't believe you tied me up, kidnapped me, dumped me in a latrine to tell me about your book fetish!" He extended his arms and Murdock duly untied them without even the good grace to look shamefaced.

"You are one stubborn son of a bitch, Faceyman. I knew I would have to do something spectacular to get your attention. But you get my point?"

Peck stood up wearily, his face now set in its regular emotionless expression, the tears of just moments before forgotten. "Oh I get it all right," he responded, eyes shining with teasing.

Murdock laughed. "Man can't do enough reading I find but remember none of it'll compare to my work of art."

Peck pushed past him in the tight cubicle and hesitated for a second as their chests touched. He looked into Murdock's eyes and for a second the pilot saw the vulnerable little boy once more. "And what happens if I need to leaf through the odd page of your masterpiece once in a while, just to keep me going, before you decide to 'read' me completely?" He looked out shyly from under long lashes.

Murdock placed his arms around Peck's neck and planted a kiss on his lips. "Didn't they teach you anything about forbearance in that orphanage of yours?"

"Wasn't listening," Peck disclosed. "Never been a virtue of mine."

"Listening or forbearing?" Murdock asked as he nuzzled Peck's throat and then reluctantly let him go.

Peck shrugged sheepishly. "Either," he muttered. "As you gathered!"

"Well then it's time you learned – the longer you wait, the better it'll be!" Murdock sighed dreamily. "But I'm all for the sneak preview!" he finished.

Peck smiled and nodded. "Sounds good." He licked his lips and leaned forward a little, Murdock closed his eyes but the expected kiss never came. Instead he opened his eyes again to see the cubicle was empty. The outside door banged and he heard Peck moan. "I can't believe you two pulled me out of my bed for that! Man this is a crazy world; I need some sleep!"

Murdock smiled. "Why Templeton Peck," he breathed jubilantly, "You are such a tease!"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Warnings/Content**: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

* * *

PART FIVE: **_Face Front_**

Peck hesitated as he walked along the muddy path between supply huts. He shivered, noting the telltale movement to his left; someone was sneaking through the shadows. Peck ignored it, forcing away the feeling of impending doom that was clawing deep in his belly. He continued to walk.

It was dark; the tropical sun having fallen below the tree line in a blaze of dying red some three hours before. He did not know the whereabouts of the rest of the Team because he had been alone in the OC for the whole evening. Well, as alone as you can be with three pretty nurses ogling over you! Peck had enjoyed the attention, flirted mercilessly and been invited outside by one Major Suzanne Swan. He had almost succumbed to the raging urge in his groin to explore all of the Major's beautiful curves. How nice it would be to just escape everything into the wonder of a pretty girl but Peck knew it could never be – today was the last day of the week. Stepford would be calling; he had promised and Peck knew that if money was involved the big Sergeant would never no show! So the lieutenant had regretfully prised himself away from Suzanne, leaving her with a smile and a promise – it didn't hurt to keep those nurses on side particularly since he had the feeling he was about to be worked over pretty good and made his way outside.

As ever it was a close, hot night. The prattle of insects from the surrounding jungle was loud and annoying. Peck sighed. He did not have Stepford's money; he did not have much money at all, having, at the Colonel's suggestion, given the wages he had stolen back to Finlay. Over the past few days he had been too busy playing the role of soldier boy to have managed to pull off any sort of scam, let alone one that would net him enough profit. The Colonel had been particularly merciless with his training and Peck had found himself either up to his arms in mud and sweat or falling exhausted on to his bed in the hooch. Very soon he realized there was only one way he was going to pay off his debt, although it was not what he desired, he had resorted to such tactics before and for a few hours pain he figured it would be worth it to wipe the slate clean entirely. It suddenly seemed important to him to be able to do that. He wanted out of any debt, any malpractice, in fact anything that Colonel Smith could possibly find distasteful. All he had to do was survive the confrontation with Stepford and then he would be able to be what Smith wanted him to be. He accepted now that the Colonel was right, his only worry was that he actually had what it took to survive in the Team.

It had seemed like a good plan but now he was actually faced with doing it, Peck could feel his fear growing. The OC was behind, the boisterous voices drifted over the humid night air towards him. He threw a longing glance of a condemned man over his shoulder, wondering if he should take the Major up on her offer after all – if he was going to be shagged tonight he would much prefer the petite blonde to Stepford's hairy ass but he knew it was out of reach. He had to face this …. Breathe deep, slow the heart…. Get a grip!

As if sensing his disquiet as a weakness three dark figures eased on to the path in front of him. Peck gulped back his fear, continued to force his feet one in front of the other, walking neither fast nor slow but steadfastly to where they waited for him.

Stepford let out a grim chuckle. "Been looking for you, Peck," he rumbled.

"Ain't been hiding," Peck retorted, voice calm, regarding the massive sergeant bearing down on him and noted that the men who accompanied him were equally muscled. He sensed two other presences behind him, stepping up to cut off his escape.

"Got my money, prick?"

Peck snorted. "You know how it is," he began, figuring he should at least try to talk his way out of this even though he knew it was useless – hell, he had a reputation to think about! "I'm having a little cashflow difficulty as I explained on Tuesday. I will get it for you, Stepford, but it's gonna take time."

"Didn't appear to be short of cash, from what I hear – not when you were throwing it about to impress those nurses!" Stepford spat. "You ain't got no more time, Peck. I told you the deadline!"

"Look Stepford, I promise I'll get you it – what good is it gonna do hurting me? You got a lot of unresolved anger, you know. You should save it for Charlie – he's the enemy after all!"

Stepford snorted as anger rumbled through him. "For once your goddamn lying, arrogant mouth is right – I got resolved anger and I know just the little prick I'm gonna resolve it on!"

He raised his fist and advanced expecting Peck to try to run but the smaller man did not. Instead he held his ground and landed a punch right into Stepford's advancing guts. It was a good punch and Peck's power had certainly benefited from Smith's training but the big sergeant had spent a lifetime pumping iron and his stomach muscles were hard as granite. The punch stunned him but did not hurt enough to slow him. Peck let out a groan as Stepford was on him, pain crashing through his head as the blows rained and the goons grabbed him from behind.

The assault lasted only a few minutes but by its end Peck sagged, head bowed, being held up only by the goons flanking him on both sides. Stepford took a fistful of hair and roughly lifted his head. Blood was running lazily from the lieutenant's nose and his lip was split.

"You really shouldn't bother to fight me, Peck," Stepford said breathing heavily. "You know I will get what I want and it's only fair. You owe me. Get him ready for me!"

Peck struggled but his head was thumping, his vision blurring and his strength deserting him. The goons threw him to the floor, one held onto his shoulders as the other undid his trousers, pulling them brutally down to his ankles.

Breathe deep….slow the heart. Peck forced the mantra through his head. He hated this, hated the powerlessness but he knew he could survive it as long as he stayed calm, losing control would undo him utterly. He closed his eyes tightly, forcing away the sight of Stepford fully aroused and leering, coming towards him. Don't struggle, he told himself, don't fight, let it happen but don't let it touch you; keep control of yourself.

"You look ready for me, boy!" Stepford hissed. "But you're forgetting something. Open your eyes. I want to see them all wide and wild. I want to see them all the time I'm in you – don't you remember that's the rule?"

"Stepford, I…." The words were stopped by a hard cuff across the jaw. Resignedly Peck opened his eyes.

"Deep blue and scared as hell," Stepford breathed. "I like that; like to see the eyes of my whore. Now don't you dare close them again, Lieutenant."

Despite himself Peck shuddered as Stepford lowered himself roughly down on to him. "Now what have you got? Let's see if you can pay off the debt in one go, or will we have to repeat this performance later?"

Peck snorted, biting back the retort that came to his lips. He was past that now, better just to shut up and endure – fighting would just make it worse and give Stepford more satisfaction. "Just get on with it!" he snapped.

He waited for the punishing slap that would surely come but it did not. Instead a voice from some distance away penetrated his perception.

"That's enough, Stepford. Get off him now!"

The weight squashing his chest and grinding him into the dirt was suddenly lifted as the sergeant, muttering obscenities moved away, his hands raised.

"You OK, kid?"

It was the Colonel's voice and Peck groaned. Christ, not here, not now! The thought of Smith seeing him in this predicament was far more distressing than anything that Stepford had been about to do to him.

"Kid?" The voice, more urgent, came again.

Peck shook his head, trying to clear it. "Yes, Sir!" he replied finally as he scrambled up and into his trousers. He glanced around to see all four members of the Team were holding Stepford and his goons at bay with guns.

The Colonel smiled fondly as Peck gingerly fumbled with his trouser fastenings. Then he turned to the glowering sergeant. "Well, you got two options Stepford. I just watched you strike the lieutenant here – not very nice at all and as a Colonel I have no option but to put you on a charge; striking a superior officer." He shook his head. "Court martials are such bureaucratic affairs!"

Peck was trying to control the shuddering that was shocking through his veins as he dabbed doubtfully at his lip. He was having difficulty in standing but he did find enough strength to step away as Stepford lunged at him. "Ain't gonna court martial me!" the sergeant spat. "Little prick owes me!"

The Colonel laughed. "You got evidence, sergeant? Maybe an IOU or something, it's got to hold up in court!" His smile widened as Stepford's face fell. "Thought not!" he chortled. "So that leaves the second option."

Stepford snorted. "Which is?"

"So simple even you will not have difficulty understanding it! You walk away….simple as that. You've missed the sunset but if you try you could still make it look quite effective," Smith laughed.

"No way!" Stepford spat.

Smith shook his head. "Wrong answer, sleeze ball! Think about it; you could be going down for a long time, not to mention ruining your career. And for what?"

"He owes me!" Stepford tried to lurch forward again but Peck stepped behind the advancing Colonel.

"Not worth losing everything for though, is he?" The Colonel's voice was almost sympathetic. "Take my advice, mark it down to experience, learn from it…. Move on!" He hefted the pistol he carried absently. "He's out of your reach now, Stepford. For keeps. Best just to forget him!"

Stepford hesitated, licking his lips, his eyes flicking from Smith to Peck and back again. Finally his shoulders sagging slightly he said, "All right I can't touch him if you're gonna protect him, Colonel, but you have to know he's bad news. He's a cheat and a liar. You take him in and you might as well take a goddamn snake to your bed!"

Smith snorted. "I'll take my chances. Now take yours and get lost!"

Stepford stood for a minute. Then he pushed past Peck and hissed. "Some day you'll get what you deserve, prick and even the A Team won't be able to protect you; when you're lying there choking on your own bodily juices, dying painfully slow, listen cos you'll hear me laughing!" And then he and his goons were gone.

"Attention!" Smith ordered and the lieutenant snapped into position in front of him. "Well Peck, looks like we saved your ass again."

"Yes, Sir!"

"Want to tell me what all that was about?"

"No, Sir!"

Smith snorted. "I think its probably better I don't know. Still I got a good enough idea to know that it's gonna cost you, Lieutenant. Report to me at my office 0700 hours in the morning in full battle gear." He let out a contented laugh. "Man, am I going to enjoy tomorrow!"

Still chuckling Smith moved away. BA shaking his head turned towards the hooch and Ray followed, which left Murdock standing to Peck's left.

"You OK, Faceyman?" he asked, moving forwards.

Peck let out a long groan. "Feel like shit," he said. "Gonna get worse too!"

Unable to resist the consternation in those wide blue eyes Murdock threw an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Why'd you let Stepford do that to you?" he asked.

Peck shrugged. "Gotta get out of a tight spot," he whispered, not trusting his voice any louder. Man; he was shaking again!

Murdock tutted. "Not that way, Face. Never that way. Why didn't you talk to me? Talk to the Team? We'd have helped you."

"Sort it out myself," Peck muttered. "Always have!"

"But you don't need to do it on your own now. You got me, you got the Colonel and BA and Ray. We'll look after you."

"Shit, Murdock, I could have handled it," he groaned.

Murdock snorted. "Shit, Peck, you are an idiot!" he parroted but his voice was honeyed by affection. "You got to remember you're part of the Team now. You made a promise to me so you got to stay safe – don't want no book that's broken and torn."

Peck nodded slowly. His head dropped and Murdock thought the tears would flow but Peck was made of sterner stuff. As the pilot watched the kid pulled himself together, forced away the cringing child and took on the shape of the arrogant conman – it was an extraordinary performance and as if to underline his strength he shrugged off Murdock's arm to stand up straight.

"I remember," he said softly but firmly and the smile was suddenly there too, melting Murdock's heart anew.

"Good!" the pilot beamed. "You coming back now? There are some nasty people out here in the dark, you know."

Peck smiled. "No way, it's early. Come with me back to the OC."

Murdock pursed his lips. "Need I remind you of your hot date with the Colonel tomorrow morning, early?"

Peck raised his hands. "I don't want to hear it! To hell with tomorrow, let's have fun tonight!"

That night, for the first time in his life Peck allowed himself to drink so much that he was truly paralytic by the time Murdock half dragged; half carried him to his bed as the rising sun began to lighten the sky. He was still pretty far gone when an hour later he stood to a swaying attention in front of Colonel Smith. By lunchtime however and after five hours of quick marching around the camp perimeter in full battle gear in the tropical heat the excesses of the night before were just a hazy memory.

* * *

"Col'nel."

The young lieutenant's eyes sliced into Smith as the Colonel moved backwards slightly, allowing the stretcher to be eased off the chopper.

"Easy, kid," Hannibal whispered, his voice was not loud enough to hear above the ear shattering whirl of the rotors but Peck saw his lips move and understood. His pain-filled blue eyes had not left his commanding officer for the whole of the flight. Hannibal had hoped that the morphine from the medical kit that Murdock had bought along would have eased Peck's pain but the lieutenant seemed unable to relax into the stupor the drug offered him. Still his eyes remained stubbornly and desperately open, pleading noiselessly.

The Colonel, continuing to hold his man's limp, sweaty hand, stepped down from the helicopter and moved along side the gurney towards the waiting medical team.

"Col'nel," Peck repeated, licking his dry lips as his voice, now audible as they left the helicopter behind, grated with pain. "Don't let them send me away."

"Relax, kid," Smith reassured him. "No-one is taking you anywhere you don't want to go."

Peck tried to sit up but the nurse holding the IV gently forced him back onto the stretcher. "But….." he groaned weakly.

"No buts, kid," Smith smiled his most confident smile. "Just lay back and let these good people sort you out."

"I can't go, Colonel." Peck's voice was almost gone, his eyes trying to roll up into his head, maybe the morphine was belatedly kicking in but more likely the kid's remaining strength had seeped away through the evil wound in his belly. Smith bent lower to hear the desperate words. "I just can't ….."

"I don't expect you to. Now save your strength. You're nearly there. I'll be waiting for you right here, with the rest of the Team."

Even in his helpless condition, Peck managed to throw back his head so he could retain eye contact as the Colonel let go of his hand and stopped. Smith stood, a lone figure at the entrance to the theatre as the gurney rolled on away from him.

"Damn!" he breathed as the stretcher and the precious young man it carried disappeared through the flap, subsumed into the clinical world that lay beyond.

Smith took the cigar from his breast pocket and chewed on it. He was dirty and tired, covered not only with his own sweat and the dirt of the jungle but also a good deal of Peck's blood.

It had been a tough mission. A difficult plan to execute but his men had surpassed themselves, worked as a Team and performing magnificently. But even as Smith had allowed himself that first relieved breath that they had done it, his lieutenant had taken a bullet in his stomach as they retreated. It wasn't Peck's fault, it wasn't anybody's fault. Smith snorted as the beginnings of a headache pumped at the centre of his forehead. That was the luck of war; just when things were finally coming together, just when he had created the Team he could be proud of, a stray shot could ruin everything. All that work turning the wise-ass, overconfident grunt with the petrified kid hidden so deeply beneath into a half decent soldier could come to zero, could end on the cool operating table just a few yards from where Smith stood. It could be a world away for all the influence the Colonel had on it now. He had done his best, got the kid here still alive, now his powerlessness to do more irked him tremendously as it always did on these occasions. He hated it when he was not in control. He had lost too many good men; Peck was just the last name on a desolately long list.

Now all there was to do was wait, see if the fighter inside Peck had enough strength to win this particular battle……….

* * *

Lieutenant Peck had lost count of the number of times he had awoken in this place; the sharp smell of disinfectant smarting his nose first, followed by the low mumbling din of the other patients bringing him back to consciousness, to reality. He always kept his eyes closed, waiting until the rest of his senses were attuned, waiting until he had a picture of the surroundings in his head before he opened his eyes, before he let whoever watched him become aware that he was awake. It was something he always did before waking; just the process may give him the advantage that he needed.

This time, like every other time in this place, his body felt strangely numb. His throat was dry and he wanted to cough to clear it. He refused himself the luxury, would not reveal any weakness, not while he lay so vulnerable in the company of strangers. He forced himself to stay motionless again, focusing on the world outside him. He could here moans from a bed down the way and he could hear that pretty blonde nurse, what was her name – Carolyn, that's right, whispering encouragement. Somewhere wheels were revolving on the vinyl floor, one squeaking loudly but that was moving away. He waited still listening. Did he catch an intake of breath close by? And what about the smell, there was something different this day from all the other days. He tried to place it, pick it out from that awful raw disinfectant odour. Was it? Could it be? Just a slight waft of cigar smoke?

Caught off guard by the sudden unexpected rush of elation that the discovery brought, Peck opened his eyes.

"Hi kid! Nice to have you back – you had us all worried!" Hannibal's face was lit by its broadest smile. The cigar was clasped between his white teeth. "How do you feel?"

"Good," Peck groaned, although he was anything but.

"Well you're over the worst," the Colonel continued. "BA, Ray and Murdock have all been dropping in to see you. We've all been worried about you, kid."

Peck tried to pull himself up a little but found he had no strength. Smith stood up immediately and helped him to a sitting position. "They have?" Peck managed to articulate doubtfully. "I thought …." He let he sentence drift.

Smith eyed him as he sat down again. "You thought what?" he asked.

Peck snorted, he looked away to where Nurse Carolyn was making a bed. He noted the cute curvature of her bottom as she leaned over. "Nothing," he allowed his voice to sound distracted.

Smith's eyes followed his gaze, and he smiled once more. "She's been looking after you real good, Lieutenant," he said. "We made sure of it."

Peck looked back at him. "Why?" he asked.

"I reckon she's got quite a thing for you," Smith said, his eyes glinting lecherously.

Peck shook his head slightly, looking down. "No," he began. "I mean why did you make sure? Why have you been in to see me? I thought you'd all cut me adrift. I mean I screwed up."

Smith laid his hand over the top of Peck's on the rough blanket. "Kid," he began and then paused until Peck's eyes came back to meet his. "You didn't screw up. You did everything I asked of you out there. In fact I have to say I am mighty proud of you, of how you worked on things, of how far you've come."

Peck gulped, suddenly feeling foolishly happy. "But… I got shot. I blew it again!" he began.

Smith shook his head. "I think the time has come to change our relationship," he continued. "You're a proper soldier now. A credit to that green beret you wear and more than that you're a fully fledged member of my Team." He lifted his hand and offered it. "I think you deserve to call me Hannibal now, Faceman!"

Peck sat up, ignoring the weakness in his body and the flash of pain the movement brought. "Really?" he whispered.

Smith nodded as he clasped Peck's hand and shook it. "Really," he said trying to remain sombre but engulfed by the power of Peck's smile. The lieutenant was overcome by an ingenuous delight that he had never felt before, it lasted for only a few seconds of ecstasy however before old doubts kicked in and the smile faltered. "You don't want rid of me?" he said.

"No."

"When I woke up and you weren't here, I sorta thought that.."

Smith shook his head. "Give yourself a break for once, Face. Believe me, trust me, please."

"I don't understand," Peck admitted. "No one ever wanted me before, at least not for good things anyway." Smith felt his heart twist at the sudden sincerity in the kid's eyes. It was true; you tell somebody that they are crap often enough and they will believe it. Peck had spent a lifetime being told he was worthless by deed and word. He had compensated by building his walls high and strong – assuming rejection before it actually became a fact. His defences were so strong they would not allow him to see this was inclusion; this was membership of a very elusive club specifically for him.

"You've been in a lonely place, Face," Smith's voice was sweet with emotion that only the experience of a similar fate could bring. "It doesn't have to be that way any more. When you were wounded, when we brought you in, you pleaded with me not to send you away, well you have my word on it, Lieutenant – you're a valued member of my Team for as long as you want."

Emotions rushed across those perfect features and Smith had never seen the conman this affected, this out of control. He waited as Peck's head dropped forwards on to his chest, mesmerised and impressed as the young man fought to overcome the raw energy of his emotion and regain his composure. Finally with a long sigh Face lifted his head, his eyes were bright but moist, the only sign on his features of the crisis he had just overcome. "It was you, wasn't it?" he said simply.

It was Smith's turn to look bemused. "What was?" he asked genuinely puzzled.

"The kid you told me about in Korea in '52. The one that was all mouth, who needed to control everything, who couldn't trust anyone. It was you, wasn't it?"

"See, you're a bright cookie, Face," Hannibal beamed. "I knew you'd get it in the end."

Face's eyes twinkled. "One of the best soldiers in this man's army," he quoted, eyebrows arched in mock disbelief.

Hannibal nodded. "If you don't know your own value, how can you expect other people to?" he laughed.

"And you think I could be like you?"

"Why not?"

Peck looked unconvinced. "And this is supposed to be a good thing?" he continued, eyes bright with humour.

Ignoring the mockery Hannibal nodded. "You're very good at what you do, Face. Who knows you may even end up better than me!"

"You think?"

"You still got a lot to learn, and remember Face; it's about surviving not winning. Pace yourself – let the odd battle go to win the war." Peck still looked sceptical as the Colonel continued. "All right, let's stay in the bounds of reality here then. Almost as good as me!" Hannibal chuckled. "Once we get you fit again. Before that you've got a little R and R coming."

The smile on Peck's features froze. "R and R?" he repeated softly. "Away from here?"

"Hawaii, I hear."

"On my own?" Smith had the definite impression he was sentencing the lieutenant to an eternity burning in the very fires of hell rather than the treat every GI in Nam longed for.

Peck shivered, but schooled his face back into his bland expression. "You'll still be here when I get back?" he asked.

The Colonel snorted in frustration. "Of course we will! In the meantime you go enjoy yourself, Lieutenant. That's an order!"

Peck nodded slowly and smiled his most confident smile while pushing his concerns away. He knew he could not reveal to the Colonel his fears or the fact that he didn't want to go to Hawaii; hell, he didn't want to go anywhere but here. It was too stupid to think let alone tell, but this damn hellhole in the middle of a foreign country with enemies desperate to blow him away both inside and outside the wire was the nearest that Lieutenant Templeton Peck had ever come to calling a place home in his whole life.

He would go on R and R, he would survive it but every day he was away he would long to come back here, back to the Team.

* * *

TBC 


	7. Chapter 7

**Warnings/Content**: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

* * *

PART SIX: _Attack_

Oh God it hurt!

Deeper and more painful than anything Peck had ever felt before. He was barely conscious, floating on a grey sea of pain. He dare not move, not even a muscle for in doing so he knew that the numb ever present thrum that he drifted on would intensify and sear through him in burning anguish.

Nothing, even death, should hurt this much.

He tried to rise above it. Tried to focus his thoughts into some sort of logical order but every single cell that made up his body was screaming at him. He did not have the strength to overcome that, to quieten them. And so he sat, not moving, not thinking, simply feeling and the feeling was complete agony.

"Confess!" the voices beseeched him, sometimes calmly instructing him and other times screaming even louder than the cries of his own body. They pulled him back from the brink, from the sanctuary of oblivion, forcing him to feel once more.

He licked his bloodied lips, his tongue running abrasively across the blistered skin. He would confess, he had tried to say so many times but his voice was lost in the overarching din of his pain. Water, he craved water. If they gave him just enough to moisten his parched throat then he would find his voice once more. If they gave him water he would confess, would make them hear but how could he ask for water when he had no voice?

He opened his eyes slightly; they were swollen and tacky and his vision was not good. Still bound as he was with his head forced down all he could see was his own crotch and thighs. He forced himself to concentrate, to try to pick out the different colours of the stains on his filthy fatigues but the world was made up of simply grey; no colour, no detail, only pain.

"Confess!" the voice urged him.

He jerked slightly and groaned as the flame of agony sliced through his foggy conscience burning him even with that unbidden movement.

Confess. He would confess if only he could but confess to what? There were so many things in his pitiful life that he was guilty of, all of them tumbling into his fevered mind. Should he confess to Father McGill that he was the one who had hot wired old Father Scott's car, gone for a joy ride in it and left it in that bush on the corner of Fifth and Seventeenth? Or that he had stolen Mrs O'Connor, the cleaner's purse, when she left it unattended in the kitchen? Should he tell Lesley Bectall that he was not the upstanding All-American boy that she considered taking home to meet her folks? Or should he tell Collins the fat boy from boot camp that he had stolen his dress uniform tie when he'd lost his own? Or Major Estevez that he had lied about his age when he signed on or tell Colonel Rosser that his Special Forces training scores were faked? Or was it Colonel Smith he needed to tell that he was never a soldier or should he tell Murdock he loved him ……..

…..Whoa! Where did that last one come from? A vision of the pilot's twinkling smile swept into Peck's tortured mind and he tensed. The resultant pain forced further coherent thought from his mind for a long time.

He whimpered and grasped for breath until the stabbing pain retreated to the numbing ache of before. He needed to focus, to find something to cling on to against the soul destroying, grey pain. He needed to find colour, sense, passion – why not Murdock? He closed his eyes tightly, forcing the image of Murdock's face into his mind, minutely building every feature, every contour, the subtle shades of his colouring; the honest beauty that Peck suddenly knew was there.

"Confess!" the voice came again.

Ignoring the pain it caused him, Peck shook his head. He could bear this, he told himself. This was no worse than other tortures he had suffered in his life and he had endured those. As long as he survived he kept the others safe. He had so much to confess that he deserved this punishment but the rest of his Team did not; he must keep them protected. Physical pain was nothing. In order to overcome it all you had to do was force it away, focus on something else. And so Peck did. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and focused his whole being on his vision of Murdock.

And for some time it worked…..

* * *

Smith let out a frustrated snort and banged his fist into the bamboo bars of the cage in disgust.

"Relax, Colonel," came Ray's tired voice. "You can't do anything."

"It's inhuman!" the Colonel spat. "No one should be forced to go through that!"

Ray got to his feet with a pained grunt and left his place at BA's side to stand beside his commanding officer. "Easy Colonel," he soothed. "We have to stay cool. It breaks my heart too but he's doing it for us."

"He's a good kid," Smith muttered.

"The goddamn best," Ray responded, a spark of pride shining in his eyes that had been dull as death until that moment. He shuddered as he looked across the camp compound to where Peck sat in the marshy area. His legs were stretched out in front of him, bound all the way up from ankle to thigh too tightly with jungle twine. His head had been thrust forwards and down towards his crotch and his arms….. Hell, Ray still remembered the scream of agony the kid had been unable to bite back when they tied his arms. They had lifted them above his head, and then repeatedly cinched them until Peck's elbows had been forced together. They had then placed handcuffs on his upper arms, pinching them as tightly as possible to cut off all circulation. As Peck had sat silently biting his lip, ignoring the pain, they had simply rotated his arms downwards until his shoulders had dislocated, the hushed camp had echoed with the appalling popping noise. That was when the kid's self control had finally deserted him and he screamed. Ray had had to physically restrain the Colonel at that point. Even so his reaction had been noted by the guards and their smiles had widened knowingly.

That had been days ago – Ray was unsure of just how many but Face still sat in the same position, his shoulders joints bulging unnaturally, hands and feet black from lack of blood. Regularly the guards would go over to him and beat him with sticks, swear at him, abuse him as they saw fit and as soon as Face began to fall to the side, strong hands would prop him back up so the torture would start again. At first Ray and some of the other men had tried to shout encouragement but each one had been pulled out of their cages and beaten. Now nobody shouted but every morning in the dull dawn light all eyes went first to the stooped form of the young lieutenant and each took just a little comfort at his continuing resistance.

Ray did not think it would last. Gooks weren't stupid and the longer it went on, the more hope the prisoners would take from it. Ray didn't like to even think it but he figured that Charlie would have to crush Peck soon. He could see from the growing anxiety in his Colonel that Smith felt the same way too.

As Ray looked across at Peck he squinted trying to see if the kid's condition had worsened – was his head a little lower, his breathing more laboured? Even from this distance Ray could pick out the damp spots on the lieutenant's ragged uniform from his sweat, his blood and other bodily fluids but also from the swampy ground on which he sat. God knows how many bugs were making a meal of his body right now, sapping his strength as much as the humid climate and the cruelty of his captors and yet the kid still managed to regain and hold on to his control.

Ray turned his attention back to the Colonel still standing beside him. Hannibal's eyes were on Peck too but Ray could tell they were not seeing the kid. As he had done hundreds of times since their capture Smith was re-playing the mission in every precise detail, trying to find the reasons why they had failed, trying to see what had brought them to this horrific present…..

Something had spooked Peck. Since he had been back from his enforced R and R following the stomach wound, the lieutenant had been as sound as any of them – no return to the petrified little kid, just a cool, controlled and professional soldier. The Team had completed a dozen successful missions together and no-one would have guessed that their lieutenant had ever had a problem. But this time something made him hesitate and then aim high with his assassination shot. He had cursed, taken another shot but those few moments had proved fatal as Charlie had the two rifle discharges with which to pinpoint their position.

"Go!" Peck had screamed as he shouldered his rifle and turned. Behind him the trees had parted and what appeared to be a whole battalion of Viet Cong lurched into view.

They had run as quickly as the booby trapped jungle had allowed but suddenly the gooks were everywhere. BA was hit in the leg. Ray tried to carry him out with Hannibal and Face covering but it was no good. They had no chance of making it back to the pick up point. The Colonel had considered ending it in one violent blaze of glory but had decided against it – now that decision came back to haunt him in the terrors of the camp.

Within seconds they were on their knees, arms stretched behind their backs until their shoulders ached, hands roughly and tightly tied. BA was fighting to stay conscious as a soldier spat gibberish and waved a pistol in his face. Something had to be done to deflect the man and Hannibal wracked his brains but Peck was ahead of him.

The Colonel lifted his head at the sound of the lieutenant's voice pitched to be as annoying as possible. "Awh come on!" he whined. "You're tying that far too tight. I can't feel my h…..!" He was cut off by a blow to his jaw that sent him sprawling. The rest of the gooks turned on him instantly and Hannibal used the opportunity to crawl across to BA, Ray was already on his other side.

"Sergeant," Hannibal said. "You OK?"

BA bit back his pain. "Hurts like hell, Hannibal," he groaned. "But I'll survive."

"They may march us a ways," the Colonel continued. "Lean on me or Ray if you need."

"Don't need no help!" BA spat. "No gook bullet gonna stop me!"

They turned back to where Peck was kneeling meekly; his head had been forced into the ground by a Viet Cong soldier who was standing astride him. The lieutenant had obviously been beaten into submission. The rest of the group now seemed to be arguing, Smith tried to pick up the gist but they were speaking too fast. It soon became clear what the issue was when one of them raised Peck's sniper rifle.

"Shit," Hannibal muttered.

The leader of the men, a Captain, grabbed the weapon from the other man and in two strides was standing in front of Peck, his eyes blazing in anger. "Is this yours?" he spat in a heavily accented voice.

Peck lifted his head and gulped. The rifle butt hit him on the jaw and threw him back on to the moist jungle floor again.

"Up!" the Captain shouted.

Groggily and with difficulty Peck climbed slowly back to his knees, his mouth set firm but a stream of blood dripping from its left hand corner. He swayed slightly as he gazed up into the uncompromising eyes of his captor again. The man threatened him with the rifle once more and Peck flinched at the movement. But the Captain did not hit him; instead he bent down so his face was only inches from Peck's.

"Confess," he said. "Murderer!"

Face focused his eyes on a point in the middle distance and remained motionless. The Captain spat at him, the globule of salvia hitting him on the cheek just below his right eye and running downwards. After a few seconds Peck moved his head away from his tormentor and drew in a long, controlled breath.

"You killed her, didn't you? Cowardly American pig! You will pay!" The Captain lifted the rifle but again did not deliver the blow instead he threw a staccato sentence to the man behind Peck who roughly lifted him to his feet. He pushed him towards where the other three waited. Peck stumbled and fell, skidding to a halt on his knees next to the Colonel.

Hannibal fixed him with a considering eye. "The target was a woman?" he whispered.

Face shrugged as well as he could with his arms pinned behind his back. "A girl. That's why I blew it, Colonel," he confessed. "Didn't expect a pretty face at the other end of my bullet. I screwed up…. My fault ….. I'm sorry."

"Did you get her?"

He nodded; his face expressionless. "Second shot - mission accomplished, Sir."

Hannibal sighed. "Not yet, Face. We have to get out of here, too."

Face rolled his eyes. "Better start working on your plan. I reckon these guys are pissed at us."

Hannibal nodded. "And you're making it worse. Less of the heroics, Lieutenant. I don't want you dead!"

Peck's dirty face cracked into his most stunning smile. "It's gotta be me," he said. "BA's hurt, Ray's gotta look after him. You got to lead us – I'm the dispensable one, Hannibal – it makes perfect sense!"

The Colonel opened his mouth to respond but one of the enemy soldiers stepped up and let fly a barrage of orders. They were pulled roughly to their feet and forced to march northwards away from the recon site where Murdock was supposed to pick them up.

They marched for the rest of the day and then again the following morning until judging by the position of the sun, barely glimpsed through the sweeping canopy above them, noon. By this time BA was in a bad way, barely conscious he was marching by pure instinct. The others had been throwing each other increasingly desperate looks and it was with some relief that they found themselves pushed to their knees in what was obviously the small encampment deep in the jungle that was their destination.

Relief was somewhat short lived, however, as they took into view their surroundings. There were a number of small huts built from bamboo nestled together at the northern point of the camp. A number of Vietnamese scuttled around a massive cooking fire in front of them. There were six bamboo cages to the right, housed in a ditch that had been dug into the ground so that only the top half of each of the cages was visible. Three were empty and three housed a scrawny, battered assortment of dull eyed prisoners, currently staring at them lifelessly. On the south side of the camp ran a small stream, the land around it was swampy. Sitting on this land on a small stool was the bizarre sight of one lone American prisoner.

Hannibal stared at the man for a long time. He was sitting on a small four legged stool, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands tied by his sides to the stool. Smith had heard of such torture techniques before, the man would be left there day and night with no liquids or food and forced to sit upright whenever he fell asleep. The soldier was in a bad state; his head slumped on to his chest. There was no movement, no possible hint of whether he was alive or dead.

The Colonel was pulled back from his assessment of their prison by the harsh voice of the slant eyed Captain behind them. Strong hands lifted him ungently and began to strip him of his boots. Barefoot Hannibal found himself forced towards one of the empty cages. From behind him BA groaned in pain and fell forwards as two gooks tried to get him to his feet. There was a harsh babble then as the Captain made a dismissive gesture. One of the soldiers reached for his gun, his eyes glowering at the big black man.

"Not my boots!" Face's whining voice came to the rescue once more. As the soldier in front of him tried to pull off his right boot Peck kicked out and managed to kick the soldier square on the jaw. He fell over with a grunt and then Face was on his feet sliding and slithering towards the stream as he cast a meaningful glance from Hannibal to BA and back.

The soldiers moved to intercept the lieutenant as Ray and Hannibal took BA's massive form between them and dragged him towards the cage. Both would have preferred to take him out of the encampment but they knew in his current condition further travel was out of the question. Instead they laid him down gently on the cell floor and then turned back to see how Peck was faring.

Not very well, was the answer. He had been tackled to the ground by the first soldier to catch up with him and others had piled on, leaving him at the bottom of the heavy heap. Slowly the soldiers got off him and pulled him to his knees once more, he had come to rest only a few feet away from the GI on the stool, but the soldier remained completely oblivious to all that went on around him.

The Captain moved in and pointed his revolver at the side of Peck's head. "Up!" he commanded. Gulping fearfully Face did as he was told. The Captain had to stand on tiptoe to keep the gun barrel embedded into Peck's temple. He spat out a command to the nearest soldier who bent down to remove Peck's boots.

As nonchalantly as he could in the circumstances, Face kicked off first one boot then the other. "All right, all right," he moaned. "You can have the damn things!" Hannibal sucked in a deep breath. "Easy kid," he whispered. "Don't do or say anything stupid!" The inhabitants of the other cages plus Ray were stupefied by the events, standing motionless, afraid even to breathe; afraid but also so relieved that it was happening to someone else.

After his boots were gone Face was forced back to his knees next to the soldier on the stool. The Captain was terrifyingly still as he stood over Peck gun still at his temple. "Stupid, soft American," he spat. "You pay." He cocked the pistol. Peck shivered slightly, closed his eyes and waited.

"No," Hannibal breathed as the gunshot rang around the jungle.

But it was not Face who fell to the floor instead the soldier on the stool jerked and then slumped further forward. Peck opened his eyes, took in a long ragged gulp and looked out through a face splattered with the brains of the dead soldier beside him. The Captain behind him began to laugh, a brittle detached sound that clattered around the camp. Soon the other Viet Cong joined in but the captives stood silently quaking until one of them muttered, "Rest in peace, Jimbo."

Hannibal pulled himself away from the scene. "Was that his name, soldier?"

The GI nodded. "Been torturing him for days. He just wanted an end to it – guess he got that now. Don't think your man will fare much better though."

Hannibal sighed. "He's a lot tougher than he looks!" he muttered wishing he had something to fiddle with. The desire for a cigar was almost overwhelming but he forced it away.

They watched in silence as the Captain barked another load of orders and his troops rushed to obey. He looked down at Face still kneeling below him. "New play thing," he spat. "Let's see how long you last!"

It was then that they had bound Peck. He managed not to say a word although it must have been painful, not until they dislocated his shoulders, then he screamed. After he was tied he had managed to lift his head for the briefest of seconds. His eyes wide and wild sought out and fixed on to his commanding officer's. An understanding passed between the two and though Peck's head was forced brutally downwards Hannibal did not allow himself to forget the clarity of purpose in the young man's eyes.

He remembered it now as he stood and looked at the dirty subdued figure over in the swamp. The Colonel knew that he had to find a plan, had to get them out of this. "How's BA?" he asked.

Ray shrugged. "Fever's bad, he needs antibiotics, Colonel."

Hannibal sighed, flexed his fists into balls of impotent rage and then released them. Two of his boys hanging by a thread and the third Ray, although he was trying to ignore the fact, doubled over with stomach cramps so bad it had to be dysentery. Not only that but since they had arrived here the rest of the prisoners had accepted Hannibal's superior rank. He now had the lives of fifteen malnourished, despondent GIs as well as his own Team to consider.

A dull throbbing began deep in the Colonel's temples. He felt suddenly old, too old for this sort of shit. How the hell was he going to get them out of this one? Then he remembered the complete trust he had seen in Peck's eyes. The lieutenant had known he was about to suffer, was going to be taken to hell but he had accepted it, been prepared to endure it for the good of his Team. How different he was from the arrogant, selfish young man Hannibal had found in the brig just a few short months ago. Hannibal knew he owed it to him to get them out. A plan would come he knew, he just had to be patient and pray that both BA and Face had the strength to live long enough to benefit from it.

* * *

Murdock took a long draw on his cigarette and shivered. He felt detached from the motions of the camp as people went about their business around him. How could they be so indifferent? How could they carry on regardless as if there wasn't a horrific hole punched through the world? Did they not understand the monumental disaster that had occurred?

He snorted. Of course they did not because for them it was no greater than any other disaster that they suffered in this place. Only Murdock's world was blown apart, only his heart was fluttering dangerously as it considered whether it should take another beat or just give up the effort here and now

The pilot's mind went back to the pick up. There had been lots of Charile action but nothing that he hadn't experienced before. He had hovered in the sky, waiting for the signal to go in. And as he waited his adrenaline rush changed to apprehension and then on to downright fear; a fear that clutched deep into his bowels. He tried to force it away, tried to tell himself it was an easy mission, nothing worse than any other the Team had been on in the past. And they always came back, maybe bruised and battered as hell, maybe moaning graphically, but they always came back. So why not this time?

God! He scanned the jungle below, eager eyes desperate to pick out a familiar form; longing to see BA's scowl or Hannibal's grey hair, Ray's muscled form or the slim, slight figure of the Faceman, but there was nothing; the trees simply regarded him with indifference and Murdock's fear grew.

He had ignored the order to abort. They just needed more time. They would be here soon. The rest of his crew had had to plead with him wide-eyed and desperate before he had finally turned the chopper for home. He got back to the base telling himself that they had missed the pick up but they would hit the next one. He switched duties, made sure he was on the run the next day and waited….. the coldness in his groin spreading out to the rest of his body.

Still they did not come. There were no more scheduled pick ups but Murdock convinced himself the Team would simply march out. Every time he heard the cry go up that grunts were back from the jungle he legged it down to see, his heart pounding with hope that slowly bled out through his boots when none of his Team returned.

He questioned everybody but it had been a covert operation, no one knew of it and no one had seen them. He went to their hooch ran his hands and eyes over their things, imagined them all there, even began to talk to them. The rest of the guys began to look at him with knowing eyes, shaking their heads and moving away. Murdock still flew his missions but he was distracted, distant, and strange. Every twilight he went to the edge of the wire, oblivious of the danger from snipers, to smoke and to stare into the jungle.

He missed them all so much it was a physical pain to him. He could not believe they were gone and so he watched and waited and slowly went out of his mind.

* * *

TBC 


	8. Chapter 8

**Warnings/Content**: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

* * *

PART SEVEN: _Surrender_

A scream of unrestrained hot agony parched through the still jungle air. It was a grey, misty morning and the camp was yet to fully awake but the scream summoned everyone from the sanctuary of sleep into the bleak uncompromising day.

Hannibal opened his eyes and shuddered. He rolled off the pitiful leaf mattress that was his bed and forced himself up to his feet, ignoring the stiffness that threatened to stop him.

"Hannibal?" BA asked, his voice still weak but now uncharacteristically fearful too.

The Colonel threw him a supportive glance. "It's OK, BA," he said.

"No it's not!" BA spat. "Help me up!"

Hannibal shrugged and offered a helping hand as the muscled black man forced himself up on to his feet and they shuffled to the bars of their cage. Once there, the sweat glistening off him from the exertion, BA propped himself up leaning heavily on the bars.

"They're cutting him free," Ray, who had been watching events, reported wearily.

Everyone was awake now, shambling towards the front of their cages to watch. Hannibal threw a glance towards the cooking fire, noting that the two boys there had stopped their industry to stare. The smallest one, Coo, met Hannibal's glance for just a second and looked away. He was a good boy and a brave one, the Colonel had found out rather more by luck than design when he had been dishing out the rice gruel that the prisoners ate. Hannibal had spoken to him and been surprised when Coo had responded in broken English while flashing him a toothy grin. Knowing the power behind such an alliance in their current predicament Hannibal had cultivated the friendship. Coo was obviously frightened but he had sneaked them fresh fruit and meat and even managed to acquire the antibiotics that had allowed Baracus' innate strength to fight off his infection and bring him back to his feet. The bullet was still in his leg but the big man was considerably better than he had been before the drugs.

Hannibal remembered the conversation he had with Coo the night before when he saw that the boy was more nervous than normal.

"Big General come," he had said. "General Chow – bad man."

"Why is he coming here?" Hannibal asked. "Does it affect our plan?"

Coo had shrugged, so eager to be away that his feet were already walking back towards the cooking fire. He tossed his head toward where Peck sat. "Want dead man."

"Why?" Hannibal had hissed but Coo shook his head and moved away. The Colonel had slept fitfully all night, worrying over what the cook had meant. Now it seemed in the grey light of the morning he was about to find out.

A further screech drew Hannibal's eyes back to the swamp area. A number of soldiers were gathered around Peck's body. They had slit through his bindings with a sharp knife and allowed him finally to fall to the floor. He was lying now on his side, arms still stretched out above his head at an obscene angle. The soldiers were taking it in turns to poke Peck with blunt sticks and laughing at the subsequent pain-filled responses that came from the tormented man.

The Captain appeared from one of the tents, shouting at his men who quickly followed orders. They ignored the obvious agony of Peck as two of them lifted him up and carried him towards the cages. Hannibal and the others stepped back as the door to their cage was opened and Peck was thrown inside. The Colonel and Ray caught the lifeless body as he fell so he did not hit the ground and suffer further hurt than his current wounds generated.

Hannibal bent down easing Face gently to the floor as the cage door was locked once more. Behind them the Captain stood. "He confessed to murder," he said savagely. "General Chow comes to administer punishment."

"Punishment?" Hannibal felt his stomach tighten as the Captain smiled smugly. "Execution," he beamed. Then he turned on his heal and walked away.

The Colonel filed the information but did not dwell on it, Peck needed him now and he turned his full attention to the moaning, ragged figure.

"Face," he said softly as his eyes took in the full horror of the lieutenant's condition. "Face talk to me."

Peck was groaning softly, his breaths shallow. His uniform was barely recognizable, ripped, covered in stains and hanging from his frame, revealing his emaciated body covered with numerous bruises and cuts. The extremities of his limbs were black from lack of circulation, the muscles twitching violently sending pained shudders throughout his body as the blood returned to them and there were welts covered with dried scabs where the twine had been wound around too tightly. But blue appeared within the black eyes, hooded with pain but still bright. "Hann'bal." It was more a sigh than a word.

The Colonel smiled. "You done good, kid," he said.

Peck nodded, his tongue running across parched lips, teeth so white in the dirty face. "Hurts," he said.

"We're gonna have to fix your shoulders, kid," Hannibal said indicating to Ray that he should take hold of Peck's spasming body. "Gonna hurt a hell of a lot more but just for a while."

"Drink?" Peck asked.

"When we're done, we'll give you some water."

"Water," Face's voice grated but his eyes twinkled. "Need stronger!"

Hannibal smiled. "'Fraid not, kid. We haven't got anything."

Face snorted. "Need a decent Supplies Officer," he whispered, his voice was getting softer and weaker. His eyes began to roll up in his head but by a supreme effort he forced them back to fix on his commanding officer. He said something but it didn't carry so Hannibal bent in closer. No body else heard what he said but Hannibal's grin widened. He leaned back, put his hand into Peck's breast pocket and withdrew the battered, damp cigar that he found there.

Ray and BA exchanged a knowing grin. "I got a feeling this is gonna taste better than any I've had before," Hannibal sighed as he put it in his mouth. "Now, Lieutenant, stop trying to deflect me. We need to sort you out."

Peck gulped. "If it's gonna hurt, I'd rather not," he whispered hoarsely. "I don't do pain well."

Hannibal signalled to Ray to brace himself and then taking hold of Peck's right arm he twisted it painfully until it clicked back into place. Peck screamed. "On the contrary, Lieutenant," Hannibal said around his cigar. "You do it better than anyone I know."

Peck screamed again as his left side received the same treatment. He was barely conscious as they laid him down. Ray tried to get him to drink some of the stale water they kept in the cage but it stayed down for only a matter of seconds before Peck threw it back up again. So Ray contented himself by using the rest to clean off the wounds on the lieutenant's battered face.

"Show's over!" Smith said to the rest of the captives who had been craning their necks to see what was happening. "Exercise period is starting." Since he had taken over command Smith had ensured that all the prisoners put themselves through a daily training pattern. Now though there were a few grumbles the men moved to obey.

Hannibal moved to the front of the cage and BA followed him, features set in a scowl. "We gotta get out, Colonel," he said. "You heard what that slimeball said. They gonna kill Faceman. We can't let that happen!"

Smith sucked on the cigar. "I know, BA," he said. "I know."

"Ray told me what he did when I was out of it with this leg. Twice he saved me. I owe him and I owe him bad. What's the plan, Hannibal?"

"Watch and wait, Sergeant," Smith said. He threw his arm around BA's shoulders. "Everything comes to he who waits!"

* * *

Murdock pursed his lips and hummed loudly, oblivious to the anxious looks the rest of his crew were throwing each other. He had a job to do and he was damn well going to do it. They were going deep into enemy territory and he was going to get the chance to pay back the debt that had been eating at him for weeks.

"We gonna blast 'em to hell!" he screamed as he eased the bird beneath him into the air. "We're gonna kill us some slant eyes!"

The rest of his crew looked alarmed but they knew better to contradict their Captain. To a man they all wished they had filed the transfer request they had been contemplating since Murdock's behaviour had become so outlandishly crazy! Sam, the rear gunner, shook his head. "We always called him Howling Mad," he muttered. "Now we know why!"

* * *

"How you doing, kid?" Hannibal was kneeling beside Peck. He reached over and gently grasped his hand, knowing that every movement was painful, the Colonel squeezed it only very softly.

The young lieutenant had slept for most of the day, his body shuddering so violently at times that he had woken screaming. The others had taken it in turns to hold him and soothe him during the worst times. Now it was going dark, there was still no sign of the promised General Chow and Coo and his colleague were moving from one cage to the next, dishing out rice.

Hannibal had taken two bowls. As Coo had filled them, the Colonel had asked. "When?"

Coo looked over his shoulder to make sure no guards were in hearing distance. "Soon," he whispered.

Smith snorted in frustration. "I need to know, kid," he said trying to keep hold of his anger. "They're gonna kill my man."

"The message went," Coo replied. "I do all I can. If your army come is up to them. Don't know when." He hesitated again; his gaze went to where Face was lying. "He already dead – Chow want him."

He moved away then and Hannibal took both bowls and sat down beside Face. "You reckon you can eat something, Face?" he tried again. Peck groaned and shook his head weakly.

"You gotta try," Hannibal continued. "You're been starved since we got here. We need to get you strong again."

Peck gulped. "What for?"

"So that when the rescuers come, you'll be ready."

Peck closed his eyes and moaned despondently. The little strength that had returned to him during his sleep was all used up. He was so tired and weak. The dull throb of pain although lessened from the horrific agony of earlier when the blood had rushed into his empty limbs, was still there. He could endure it no longer; he needed to escape to oblivion and he did not care if he ever came back.

"Face," Smith prompted as Peck threatened to drift away. "Just try a little." Gently he placed the stick they used as a spoon to Peck's mouth. "That's an order!"

Peck's eyes flashed open. He let the food into his mouth and chewed slowly but he was taken by a coughing fit when he tried to swallow. Again pain wracked through him and he lay back, powerless to defend himself.

"Easy, kid," Hannibal soothed. "Maybe just water then, for a while."

After the fit had past, Peck sighed. "Heard what he said," he began softly, gulping in air between every word. "Shouldn't have confessed… just wanted it to stop…."

"Sssh," Smith said. "Doesn't matter, Face. Nobody'll believe a confession made in these circumstances. Besides you were only following my orders – if they want to execute somebody it should be me."

Peck gulped, shook his head. "No Colonel. You're needed. No difference if I…."

"Enough!" Smith silenced him, his tone still soft but firmer somehow. "I don't want to hear how you're dispensable, Face," he said. "Because you're not. You're part of my Team and that makes you the best. And I don't want you giving up on yourself either. Do you know what it was that I saw in you in the brig? What it was that made me chose you?"

Face shook his head feebly. "Kind of wondered," he gasped. "Thought it was because I reminded you of you in Korea."

Hannibal nodded. "But what was it that reminded me?"

A wave of pain rushed through Peck then and he tried to bite back the groan that threatened to escape him. Smith sensed the tensing of his muscles, saw the pain flash in his eyes and tightened his grip on the kid to help him through it. "Easy," he breathed.

Peck let out a ragged breath but then he relaxed and his eyes sought Smith's once more. "Well?" he asked croakily.

"Your self containment. Your complete confidence that no matter what was thrown at you, you would work your way through it, you would survive. I wanted that for my Team but I wanted it to be controlled, channelled, not for you but for me, for the Team." Smith smiled. "Reckon I got what I wanted all right. So don't lose the spark, Lieutenant. Don't let the goddamn bastards here take that from you cos if you do they'll have won and they don't deserve that." Hannibal was still sucking on the cigar from earlier. "You will survive this, Face, trust me on this one!"

Smith's eyes were blazing with the confidence of the jazz and Peck held the stare, feeling the strength from his commanding officer buzzing through his own veins, making him whole once more. He let himself believe it completely, thrusting away the doubts and grasping on to the encouragement that was being offered, he gave himself to his Colonel and to the jazz. What alternative did he have? To cower and fear was not an option, better to ride the wave of confidence that Hannibal was offering, better to ride it to the very end! And if that end were to be here and soon then better to do it in style.

As he accepted everything the Colonel offered, gave himself completely, Peck realized he had nothing left to fear. He felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from him as he understood. Even after all that he had been through, even in his dilapidated state, even with the threat of execution at any moment hanging over him, Peck's smile was breathtaking in the extreme. Ray would later swear that its warmth lit the Colonel's cigar all on its own. "I trust you, Colonel," the conman said and he had never spoken a more honest sentence in his whole life!

* * *

Peck actually had three days to regain his strength before they came for him. Three days of sipping water and sleeping, of listening to the camp routine and almost feeling a part of it. Three days when the pain gradually began to recede and the blackness of his hands and feet seeped away to something more resembling their proper colour. Three days to tentatively stand on wavering legs, clutch hold of Ray or Hannibal and take small but monumental steps. Three days to smile. Three days to make a friend of Coo and investigate supply possibilities. Three days to wash and shave and to begin to feel almost human again.

And on the fourth day General Chow arrived. He came with a platoon of men, weapons drawn, eyes wild and brutal, fanning out into the camp and turning over baskets, scattering chickens, bringing destruction. And in those few seconds the morale that Smith had managed to nurture in the men was gone. Suddenly fear returned to every heart as the prisoners were pulled out to stand in front of the cages.

As if awaiting his time General Chow, a small insignificant man made big by the authority of his uniform blustered on to the scene. He stood before the GIs, face contorted in arrogant disgust, swatting his boot with the horse whip he carried. "Who is commanding officer here?" he spat, completely ignoring the Viet Cong Captain who had exited his tent at the commotion and now stood uncomfortably to the side.

"I am," Hannibal stepped forward, eyes twinkling.

Chow snorted, eyes assessing the Colonel critically. "You will prepare to move out," he spat.

"Move out?" Hannibal repeated. "Where?"

The horsewhip swatted across Smith's cheek, causing him to gasp in surprise and raise a hand to the cut that had appeared there. He dabbed at the blood as it bubbled out but his eyes remained steady on Chow's.

"We leave at dawn tomorrow," Chow continued.

"With respect, General," Smith replied. "I have men here who are not fit enough to move anywhere. Give us decent food and medical supplies and then we may be able to move."

The horsewhip swatted again. Hannibal put up his hands to protect himself as the blows rained down on him. Finally Chow stopped, his face furiously red from his exertion. "Tomorrow we go," he repeated. "Anyone who cannot walk will be shot!"

There was a stifled intake of breath from the gathered prisoners. Smith snorted. "We are prisoners of war," he stated. "You cannot…"

Chow dropped his whip and punched Hannibal hard into the stomach. Completely taken by surprise, the breath whooshed out of the Colonel and he sank to his knees with a groan. Chow picked up his whip and walked passed the downed figure, he spat something over his shoulder in Vietnamese and the Captain answered in a strained voice. Chow's face twisted into a sadistic grin as he stopped in front of Peck where he stood leaning on Brennan for support. He thrust his whip under Peck's chin and lifted his head until their eyes met but the lieutenant refused to be intimidated, he remained beautifully still save for the flaring of his nostrils and did not look away. Hannibal climbed back to his feet, rubbing his stomach gingerly but ready to leap at the General at any moment.

"You owe me!" Chow spat digging the whip into Peck's neck. Peck gulped, cleared his throat, and prayed his voice was as unconcerned as he hoped when he replied. "I think you're mistaken, Sir. I don't believe we've met!"

The whole unit was painfully silent, bodies quivering in anticipation like animals before a storm, for each one knew the tempest was about to hit. Chow's body shuddered in anger, his moustache twitching as he continued to stare at Peck. But slowly he forced his mouth into the horrific smile of earlier.

"How very gracious of you, American," he spat as he lowered the whip. "But you will remember soon enough why and what you owe me!" He barked out a command and two soldiers stepped forward.

"What are you doing?" Hannibal demanded, moving to intercept them.

Chow threw him a withering, impatient look. "This man is a confessed murderer. Sentence has been passed. I am about to administer it!" He glared at the Colonel challengingly.

"On whose authority?" Hannibal asked bluntly.

"Mine!"

"You have no right! This man was simply following orders; he is an American soldier and a prisoner of war. Your men have already abused him against international laws. He is not the criminal here!"

But as Hannibal spoke the two soldiers took hold of Peck's arms and began to pull him away. Face groaned as new pain flamed from the embers of old. Resolutely Hannibal moved to bar their way. BA and Ray stepped up to help as did others and soon a melee developed with Peck at its centre being pushed first one way and then the other.

The scene was getting ugly with scuffles breaking out and Chow's soldiers swinging rifle butts in an attempt to quash the growing mutinous rage of the prisoners. It came to an abrupt end when three gun shots cracked through the air. All eyes turned to regard the small Viet Cong General who stood with his pistol raised pointing at Peck. "I shall perform the execution here and now if you do not give ground!" he snapped.

Slowly men began to disentangle and to move away, not one eye left Chow. He turned the gun from Peck to Smith. "Move back to your ranks!" he ordered.

"I'm not leaving him!" Smith's tone was equally imposing.

"Move away!"

"Make me!"

"Colonel," Peck's voice was calm, cutting through the explosive atmosphere. "Let it go. There's no point in anybody else being hurt."

"Face, I won't let…."

Peck shook his head slowly. "You can't stop it, Sir. Doesn't matter; none of it!" His sad smile was poignant but proud. "I got the jazz from you, that's all I need!"

"But Face…"

"They can't touch me, not really. Believe me Hannibal, I'm cool!" He shrugged off the two soldiers who were still half heartedly holding on to him and straightened his uniform. Then he pulled himself to attention and gave his commanding officer a final salute.

Smith returned it, their eyes met in a stare of comprehension. Peck nodded, his eyes gleaming intensely. "I understand, Sir," he confirmed. With the greatest dignity he took the few steps to stand in front of Chow. "Lieutenant Templeton Peck, Sir!" He snapped to attention once more, even in rags the picture of military discipline.

"Hannibal," BA growled. "Can't let this…."

The Colonel let out a long sigh as he watched Peck, flanked by two soldiers, Chow bringing up the rear and swatting at his boot with his whip, disappear into one of the bamboo huts. "I knew he had style," he murmured. "But I wasn't sure he had the guts to match!"

"Hannibal!" BA repeated.

"It's OK, BA," Hannibal whispered to only him and Ray. "I don't think Chow has any intention of killing Face just yet. We just got to hope our reinforcements get here before the kid's strength gives out!" He turned back to the men. "We better get packed up," he called. "Everybody who is fit enough to march team up with somebody who isn't; damned if I'm gonna lose another man in this shit! Dismissed!"

There was a miserable mumbling but every man did as he was told, turning and shambling back to their cages. As the day progressed they prepared to move out as best they could. A desperate, despondent air had fallen about the camp and it got worse…. at dusk the screaming started.

* * *

"You have a foul mouth, Lieutenant."

"It's had some dirty things in it!" Peck retorted.

He was kneeling, arms cuffed behind him, as Chow circled him like a vulture eying his dinner. Periodically he swatted Peck's body with his whip as he passed. The lieutenant flinched each time but gritted his teeth and did not utter a sound.

"You think yourself tough!" Chow mocked. "Because you survived the hell-cuffs but I am going to show you what soft, weak American scum you are."

"I believe you already, so can we skip the lesson?" Again the whip fell and this time Peck grunted.

"You are incredibly stupid," Chow said. "Do you know who you killed?"

"No," Peck lifted his eyes to regard his tormentor, noticing how tense Chow was, sensing his anger and wondering at its source. Was it something he could use, something that would delay the inevitable? He had to play for time, had to give the relief force every chance to get here – can't get rescued if you're already dead! Still he had to fight back with what little he had. "It was a mark, that's all," he responded.

Chow had been moving away but he whirled back onto Peck, slapped him hard across the face, not with the whip but with his hand this time. Peck's head cracked back as the semi-healed cut on his lip split once again.

"My daughter!" Chow's voice was more a howl of lament than a shout.

Peck gulped, tasted the blood in his mouth, spat it out and wiped his face on his shoulder. Oh shit, no wonder the guy was taking it personally! And no wonder he didn't want a simple execution. Great Peck; when you screw up, you screw up good! But he forced the panic away, stored the information for use later if he got the chance. "It's a war," he said emotionlessly. "People die."

Chow shuddered, made to hit him again but stopped and smiled evilly instead. "You won't provoke me, American!" he promised. "I won't beat you into oblivion so you can have respite you don't deserve. By the end of this day you will be dead. The only question is how much pain I shall make you suffer before I allow you that escape!"

Peck inhaled a long breath but kept his eyes firmly on the General's. "I did what I had to," he said. "I will be judged for my actions and I may even pay for them but you have no right to punish me. I won't accept your guilt as well as my own – maybe you should have brought your daughter up not to get involved in wars!"

Chow screamed an order at the men who rushed forwards, lifted Peck up and threw him belly down onto the wooden table in the corner of the room. His head banged roughly as his arms were pulled upwards, his shoulder joints stretching agonisingly once more. He grunted as he felt his fatigues being pulled down, a rush of colder air on his bottom told him he was thoroughly exposed. He closed his eyes, knowing what was to come next, knowing how it would burn and rip and skewer him but also clinging to the memory that he had suffered such pain before and he had survived it.

Still the thrust when it came was brutal and unforgiving and Peck could not contain his scream. He slid along the table top, feeling splinters of wood embedding themselves into his chest and then was pulled back. The action happened again and again as the weight that forced him on to the table also pumped viciously into him. He tried to disconnect himself from it, to focus on something else. His mind grasped for the image of Murdock that had nourished him through his previous torment but the thrusting was too intense, too oppressive to allow him the time to build his defences. He couldn't find focus, couldn't control the pieces of the image into a consistent whole although he forced them with all his strength. And Murdock's comforting face remained agonisingly out of his reach.

Peck opened his eyes in panic as his control deserted him. He was surprised to see Chow sitting watching him intensely as the thrusting continued. The General's face was set into a contented grin as he enjoyed the proceedings. He smiled smugly when he read the terror in his victim's eyes; he had known all along this American was a coward. How gratifying it would be to make him pay utterly.

At that point Peck lost it entirely and began to scream hysterically……

* * *

There was no notice of their arrival. No sounds of choppers and no gun fire. One moment the camp was in its own eerie world, silent how that Peck's screams had ceased, the next there were men in US Army fatigues everywhere, seemingly rising out of the ground and engaging Viet Cong wherever they found them.

Then the guns started and the air was suddenly full of choppers and the sounds of war. The prisoners were released from their cages by Special Forces as the choppers landed near by to ferry them home. It was all done with a lack of fuss which made it somehow unbelievable and dreamlike.

Hannibal found himself in front of the Colonel in charge of the operation. He saluted and flashed a relieved grin. "Glad you could get here, Bud!"

Bud Simmons snorted. He had never liked Colonel John Smith, found him unorthodox and insufferable at best. In fact if he'd know this mission was to liberate him, he would have thought twice about accepting it! He was, however, somewhat gratified that even Smith was having difficulty in looking as arrogant as he usually did in his ragged uniform and obvious physical distress.

"We came as fast as we could," he snapped, annoyed with himself for rising to Smith's barb. "Get in the chopper, Colonel. The sooner we're out of here, the better!"

Smith's grin strengthened. "Not just yet, Bud!" Before Simmons realised what was happening, Smith had relieved him of the pistol at the holster on his hip. "Got a man in there," Smith nodded towards the huts. "Not leaving without him!"

Simmons stood bemused as Smith followed by two equally ragged burley soldiers pushed passed him and make their way to the nearest bamboo building.

Ray was the first through the door way and he stopped, mesmerised by the sight he saw there. Hannibal pushed past him, eyes swiftly adjusting to the lack of light, nostrils flaring at the brittle scent of blood and sweat that assailed them, a strange annoying dripping sound on the air. He saw the dark shadow of a man, which from his diminutive stature must be Chow, sitting beside the only furniture in the hut, a wooden table. He was motionless, and the light that shafted in from outside behind Hannibal caught his eyes. They were black and sparkling with satisfaction, daring the Colonel to act.

Hannibal gulped as he became aware of what was in the foreground between him and the Colonel. It hung from the top point of the roof, spinning slowly …. a body.

A shudder of cold fear slapped the Colonel hard then as he looked up to see the lower half of the carcass was naked, the top half barely concealed by a tattered uniform and all was covered in blood, an ensanguined stream ran along one of the legs and dripped noisily on to the matted floor. Smith's eyes wanted to look away but he steeled them to look higher, to see the head slumped on to the chest and dirty, blonde hair fallen forwards to cover the features but Hannibal knew they would be familiar to him.

Ray and BA pushed passed him as he froze in silent desperation. The sour smack of defeat hit him and he let out a mournful, frail gasp of despair.

"Face!"

* * *

TBC 


	9. Chapter 9

**Warnings/Content**: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

* * *

PART EIGHT: _Fall Out_

Hannibal took a long draw on his cigar. It had been a frustrating meeting with General Anderson. Smith hated the jumped up little prick with a passion. He still was not sure of the validity of the orders he had been given, nor of how he was supposed to succeed on such a dangerous mission with his team so sapped of their strength they would surely perform way lower than optimum level.

Ray was still in hospital. The dysentery he had fought so hard against in the camp had ravaged through him once he had let down his defences. He was weak and unlikely to be back for at least another month. BA, although his leg was on the mend, was hardly at the peak of fitness. Anderson had argued against assigning Murdock as their pilot – something about his strange behaviour while the Team had been away and the need for a psych assessment but Smith had been adamant that Murdock would be their pilot, he still trusted him more than any of the other fliers, which left Peck.

Peck, who of any of them should have been the one signed off as unfit since he had suffered the most but Face was in full con mode – had been since he woke up after their rescue. He had presented the Colonel with his fitness certificate almost immediately. Knowing his record for forgery, Smith was suspicious of course, but Face begged him to let him back on duty. He had disclosed what he had done the last time he had been sent on R and R alone after taking the bullet in the belly. Peck had apparently spent the whole time holed up in a hotel room with only a crate of whiskey to keep him company. He admitted that he could not face being alone, not any more; he needed the Team around him.

Smith had pondered over the request but in the end if only for the sake of the kid's liver, he had finally relented. Now the bruises were dulling, the cuts almost healed and to any untutored eye Peck appeared almost mended but Smith knew different. He worried that the kid really was not strong enough to deal with what he had suffered alone. Even Peck could not push his experience away and hide behind his charade but that was exactly what he was doing and as yet there appeared to be no cracks. Hannibal determined to keep him close. Kid was tough sure but nobody went through that kind of abuse plus being only moments from death by hanging, without some sort of payback!

The Colonel's fingers flexed even now as he remembered the pure, undiluted anger that had rushed through him when he stepped into that bamboo hut. BA and Ray had moved quickly to cut down the lieutenant's inert body while Hannibal had leapt across the room, hands gripping hold of Chow's fragile neck and squeezing. The Viet Cong General had put up no resistance and Hannibal would have killed him there and then but for Ray who was suddenly beside him, pulling him back.

"Leave it, Colonel," he hissed. "Face is alive!"

The words had been repeated until they finally pierced Hannibal's blind fury. He had relaxed then, letting the General go and Simmons' men had taken the little man away to god knows where.

It was still hazy even as Hannibal ran it through his mind one more time. Murdock had been there as well as a medic and Face was coughing, more of his blood splattering onto the matting of the floor. Hannibal had come as close as he had in a long while to losing it in that nightmare hut. He sighed with the power of the memory.

God he was sick of this place, sick of this pressure – they could all do with some R and R together. His Team were strung out, flayed almost to breaking point; maybe even Face would relax his façade if they could get away together.

And Anderson had promised it after just one more mission! So why were Hannibal's instincts screaming at him that there was more to this than met the eye? He took another long draw of his cigar.

Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith was many things but first and foremost he was a soldier and a proud and patriotic one at that. When given an order he would do his damndest to carry it out, no matter what the cost. And so he had taken the mission, was even now working on the plan ….. the rest would just have to wait!

* * *

Murdock regarded his companion critically. "I think you've had enough!" he hissed.

"Enough!" Face snarled. "I haven't even started yet!" Then he turned somewhat drunkenly on his stool and gave his attention back to the figure on his left. "Now where were we?"

Major Suzanne Swan smiled, bent forward and ran her lips along Peck's ear as she whispered into it. Face's features broadened into a smirk.

"Face, we gotta go!" Murdock tried again.

"Murdock, I don't have to do anything!" Peck threw back over his shoulder, his attention very much on the Major in front of him. "Get lost!"

Murdock stood his ground. "Not without you," he retorted stubbornly. "We need to talk!"

"Not now!" Face sighed in frustration, his hand running along the Major's shapely thigh.

"Very well, Peck!" Murdock continued. "You leave me no choice!" He moved forwards forcing his way to the bar between Peck and the Major's stools. "You shouldn't be here! You shouldn't be out of bed and you definitely should not be drinking in your condition!"

"Shut up, Murdock!"

But the nurse in Major Swan had heard the words. She eased back, looking suspiciously at Peck, noting the paleness of his skin, the dark rings around his eyes and the remains of bruising around his face and neck. She knew he had been out of circulation for a while but was unaware of the details not having been assigned to the field hospital where Peck had been taken following his rescue. "You told me you were fit for duty," she said, drawing further back.

"I am!" Face snorted indignantly.

"Phooey!" Murdock spat. "No one who wakes up in the middle of the night screaming like you do is fit for duty! And you sure as hell should not be drinking not while you're still popping those painkillers!"

"Murdock – shut up!"

The physical retraction of the nurse was now complete, the blonde beside her was no longer an attractive man but a patient; all sexual attraction had evaporated completely. "Painkillers!" she snorted, moving Face's beer out of his reach. "Then you should be in bed!"

Face nodded, unwilling to accept the inevitable especially when he was this close, he leered. "My thoughts entirely. That's what I've been working on all night!"

She rolled her eyes. "Asleep!" She slipped her petite bottom off the stool. "Take him home, Captain," she ordered to Murdock. "Man has to be in perfect health if he wants to mix it with me!" She moved away pausing only to blow a last kiss over her shoulder at the bemused Peck.

"Come on, Face," Murdock said.

"Shit!" Peck snorted. "Since when did you become my keeper?"

"Since you started acting like there was no tomorrow, you idiot. After all you've been through you need to talk, amigo."

"Bullshit!" Face snapped but he allowed himself to be manoeuvred through the crowd, and out of the hot club into the warm, humid night air beyond. If he had broken the habit of a lifetime and been truthful he would have admitted that he was feeling tired and somewhat fragile.

They were silent for a while, Murdock reaching across to lay a supportive hand on the younger man's shoulder as he stumbled drunkenly along the path. "Here," he indicated a couple of crates and they sat down. Face took the cigarette the pilot offered him and waited dumbly until it was lit.

"You gotta talk about it, Face," Murdock said finally. "You got all that hurt, all that pain stuffed up inside of you and since you got out of hospital you haven't stopped, drinking and whoring; you've been on your own personal suicide mission ever since you got back. You've gotta let it out."

Peck snorted. "No," he said stubbornly.

"But it's eating you away inside."

Peck let out a long breath, watched the smoke he exhaled dissipate and then turned his eyes to the man beside him. "Don't be my conscience, Murdock," he said slurring softly. "I don't need one and I don't want one. I don't want you taking on anything for me – you've got enough of your own crap to deal with. I'm over it. I survived so I just learn from it what I can and I move on, that's all."

"Shit, Face. Nobody is that strong."

"I am, Murdock. I have to move on. I can't think about it cos if I do it'll destroy me. Have to plant myself in the physical, have to stop thinking and start feeling. I can't dwell on it cos then it will get stronger deep inside me and then it will annihilate me."

Murdock sighed. "But you can't deny it forever, Face."

"Watch me!"

"But…."

"No buts Murdock! I'm hanging by a thread here – standing with a noose around your neck just waiting for someone to kick away the chair you're on has a way of focusing the mind. You see things in real sharp perspective then. And I promised myself if I survived it, it was gonna make me stronger not weaker." He let out a ragged breath. "If this shit is all there is, man I am gonna live it – no regrets! Fast cars, beautiful women, good food – the whole works! No commitment, no forever cos nothing is forever – it always ends in pain and tears if you let it. Not me – if you don't give it then nobody can take it!"

"Face, you don't mean that."

"Commitment to people just makes you weak," Face ground the butt of his cigarette into the dust. "I need only me and the Team – that's it, period. Nothing else matters!"

Murdock eyed him. "What about me?"

"You're part of the Team."

"You know that's not what I meant!"

"I could have given you what you wanted in the showers but I can't now, not anymore. Things changed for me out there and they are never going to be the same again. I'm sorry if you thought I could be the love of your life Murdock. I can't. The only person I am ever gonna allow myself to love is me, because that is the only way I can survive this shit!"

"Good old 'Templeton love 'em and leave 'em Peck' is it?" Murdock did not even try to keep the bitterness from his voice. "What if I want more than that?"

"Then you need to find somebody else Murdock. I can't give you anything that you need. I'm sorry."

"So am I, Faceman. It's a lonely place that you choose to be."

Further discussion was interrupted by the appearance of Hannibal. "We got a mission 0500 hours tomorrow, boys," he said

"0500!" Peck whined. "That's awful early. I thought you were gonna get us some R and R."

Smith nodded. "After this mission, Anderson promised."

Murdock snorted. His voice was lifeless and melancholy as he asked, "So where is it, Colonel?"

"Bank of Hanoi," Smith replied, again forcing down the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Face stood up from his seat and screwed up his nose. "Bank of Hanoi," he repeated. "Sounds dangerous. Gotta get my beauty sleep then. Be seeing ya both!" He moved away, hands thrust nonchalantly in his pockets.

They watched him go and then Murdock snorted despondently. "Problem, Captain?" Smith asked.

"Not really, Colonel," the pilot replied in a soft voice. "I'm just worried about him. He was always hiding behind those big walls. Now he's built them so high, I believe they'll never come down."

Hannibal nodded. "He's hurting now, been in con mode for a while but time is a healer, Captain. Maybe it's all he needs."

Murdock looked away from Peck's retreating form and started shuffling the dust below his feet. "The little boy is so scared, he' ain't never gonna come out again."

"Maybe Murdock. Maybe not. But what matters is that we're here for him now. He has changed; he may say he doesn't want commitment but he's fooling himself. He's dedicated to us, to the Team now. Two months ago he would never have seen himself as even a member, now it's the most important thing in his world. Twice out there he risked his life for BA when he didn't have to. Time will tell us just how far he will let us in and in the meantime, we all need to be his friend, but you most of all, Captain."

Murdoch nodded. "Just thinking that people will always judge a book by its cover and sometimes they're right!"

Smith nodded. "And Faceman wouldn't have it any other way," he replied, ignoring the shocked stare the pilot threw at him. He smiled. "Cheer up Captain – some famous poet, forget the name, once said – 'The sweetest fruit is that which remains untouched'. Reckon you understand the sentiments now!"

* * *

EPILOGUE: _Retreat_

…… Face and Murdoch were sitting in the Corvette still pulled into a road side stop looking out across the Pacific Ocean as into it dipped the red golden sun sending out streaks of all colours across the sky. Below them teetering on the rocks was the beach house they were supposed to be watching.

They both sat staring westwards, Face's long fingers fiddling with the stitching on the steering wheel, Murdock humming softly.

"But then again," the pilot continued. "It's weird how it worked out."

"Weird?"

"Yeah, man you were hot in that shower but I had to tell myself you needed a friend more than a lover. And you did. Then when you were strong enough, …… and you were part of the Team…. I was not my best." He shuddered even in the warm Californian dusk, not wanting to go where that thought was taking him. "You never had a man, not since the camp?" he asked finally.

Face shook his head and replied wistfully. "I guess I got that need crushed out of me. I never missed it. You were the only one I may have considered Murdock. You have been important to me for along time. You know it was you who got me through the tortures of the camp."

Murdock nodded. "You told me once. The experience changed you. I guess it's to be expected after what you went through, not matter how strong you were it had to affect you." He laid a supportive hand across the other man's shoulders.

They sat silently again for long minutes before Face exhaled noisily. "Do you ever wonder how different things would have been if we had though?"

Murdock sucked in a long breath. "Very!" he said. "You would have seen me as a pretty face, a sex object, a demon in bed nothing else!"

Face rolled his eyes but they twinkled in the twilight as he conceded ironically, "Judged you by your cover you mean? You're probably right!"

"Yep. My gran said to me once; 'Good wishes you should always send, broken hearts you should always mend, stupid rules always bend but never, ever, ever, ever fuck a friend!'"

Face brought his eyes back to Murdock's as his eyebrows went skyward. "Your gran said that?" he asked doubtfully.

Murdock shrugged. "I think, or maybe Dr Richter, or was it in a fortune cookie? Anyway I think its kinda right! 'Cos you are my friend, Faceyman, all that we've been through, you've been there for me; the best friend I never had!"

Face chuckled. "You too, Murdock," he whispered.

"We did the right thing, Face," Murdock sighed and Peck nodded in agreement.

They looked back to the sunset and were silent again. Finally Face let out one of his deep heart-felt sighs. "But a promise is a promise, Murdock," he drawled. "Even after all this time." The pilot turned to see the glint in those blue eyes that turned back the years to the brash, arrogant lieutenant from long ago.

"Fancy a quick one …….?"

The End


End file.
